


Team Free Will

by Haunted_Frost



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Other, Superhero Castiel, Superhero Dean, Superhero Gabriel, Superhero Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6136728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haunted_Frost/pseuds/Haunted_Frost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the cities of Crossroads, Garrison, Lawrence, and Palo Alto, four heroes have begun to work together against the crime organization, Hell.  Locals aren't sure what to call the group-they run by their own rules, but get the job done.  </p>
<p>The Hunter, who's famous for taking down a branch of Hell with just his gun, the legendary Colt at his side, is really just Dean Winchester, a mechanic trying to save the world.<br/>Legacy, the calm, collected man that can take out a criminal in a blink of an eye, is Sam Winchester, who just wants to prove that he isn't a freak, that he can do good in the world.<br/>Enoch-the silent, mysterious dark-winged angel that works part time for the Host, is Castiel Shurley, who is far more lost than he dares let anyone see.<br/>The Trickster left the Host and his Herald name behind, preferring to dish out justice as he saw it--Gabriel Shurley won't let his family make him choose a side again.  </p>
<p>And when stirrings of Hell threaten the lives of those they love, nothing can stand in the way of Team Free Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving Out

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, my first fic on AO3, though I have some stuff on fanfiction.net if anyone's interested. This idea has been nagging at me for a while. Hopefully I keep up enough steam to make this the kind of fic I want it to be. I dunno, I just think there should be more Superhero!AUs in the Supernatural archives... So voila!
> 
> Also, no matter when you picked this up or what chapter you're on, I love comments, from simple "I love it" or "That was weird" to critiques or details that you enjoyed! Hearing feedback makes me a better writer!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A document on Supers is available, and Dean helps Sam move in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made art for the story! Check it out, I can draw lol.

 

_ _

_From encrypted files in an independent Super database_

**Heroes**

**The Hunter**

Powers: Ability to Control Density of Body (Phasing+ Impenetrable), Hyper Reflexes, Perfect Shot with Colt which never runs out of bullets

Physical Description: Muscled, Tall, Green-and-Black Suit with collar turned up and a bronze symbol across his chest (See: Protection Amulet Legend) Plain black eye mask. Spiky blonde hair Domain: Crossroads, Lawrence, and Garrison

Affiliations: Possibly Men of Letters, Team Free Will

Civilian Job*: Mechanic

**Legacy**

Powers: Telekinesis, Telepath, some Psychic Visions Physical

Description: Extremely tall and built, Plain white supersuit that goes up the neck, red accents around wrists and joints, and large black anti-possession symbol across his chest. Wears a plain red eye mask. Long brown hair usually in a ponytail to keep off of face.

Domain: Crossroads, Palo Alto, Lawrence, and Garrison

Affiliations: Men of Letters, Team Free Will

Civilian Job: Student at Stanford; Studying Law

**Enoch**

Powers: Flight, Energy Manipulation (calls it ‘Grace’), Healing Abilities, Super Strength

Physical Description: Average height, but huge black wings make up for any difference in size. Black armor over a slightly glowing light blue suit that comes up with a hood over his head and completely covered face with black mask. Always carries a short dagger he calls “Angel Blade”.

Domain: Usually Garrison, though has been spotted in Lawrence and Crossroads

Affiliations: Team Free Will, The Host

Civilian Job: Garrison True Voice News Editor

**The Trickster**

Powers: Illusions, Teleportation, possibly Reality Warping, possibly Telepath

Physical Description: Short, blonde, has a somewhat obnoxious mustache and a grey-blue suit with a golden Mardi-Gras mask and cape. Six golden wings across his chest are his crest.

Domain: Palo Alto, Garrison, and Crossroads

Affiliations: Team Free Will, previously the Host, previously Asgard Kin

Civilian Job: Janitor at Stanford; Bakery Owner

*Used to determine availability on calls

**Villains**

**Yellow Eyes**

Powers: Pyrokenesis and some mind control (more susceptible under Demon Blood drug)

Affiliations: Hell

**Crowley**

Powers: Controls invisible dogs called Hellhounds. Also very slippery businessman with a lot of charisma

Affiliations: Hell (aspires to run Hell)

**Rowena**

Powers: “Attack Dog” magic/hypnosis, some energy shields

Affiliations: The Coven, occasionally helps Crowley

**The Devil**

Powers: Hallucinations and super strength

Affiliations: Previously the Host, runner of Hell

**Alastair**

Powers: Able to regenerate, also able to cause pain with his mind

Affiliations: Hell

* * *

 

All could be found on a flash drive hidden in the pillowcase of one Charlie Bradbury. Not that anyone knew that of course. As a private investigator, hacker, and queen of Moondor, she liked to think she was good at keeping these sorts of things to herself. Once she found out information on them, she started logging it—real superheroes were much harder to catalog and explain than the ones in comics. But she was up for the challenge. After all, it kept her in the business of tracking villains and protecting heroes from the sidelines

* * *

Dean grunted as he hefted the second-to-last box into his arms as he tried not to fall down the stairs.

“Sammy, you really need to get lighter shit to put into your dorm.”

“It’s not my fault the elevator’s packed with swarming freshmen moving in, not out, jerk.”

“Bitch. So, where’re you moving that costs so much less?”

“Ah, did some hunting and found a hole-in-the-wall thrift store with an apartment above it. Real cheap. I can fix it up,” he shrugged, shoving the last box into the backseat of his brother’s car.

“Thanks for lending me the car. I’ll meet you at the Roadhouse in a bit. Figure you’ve had enough of skeezy bedrooms from motels, now that you’re living with Cas.”

“Right . . .” Dean laughed. They’d moved around a lot and lived in one too many motels as kids. Now sharing an actually decent apartment? No way was he going back.

“But what about you?” Sam smiled wryly.

“I think I can fix it up enough for the rest of the next three years. I’ll get an actual apartment depending on if I get accepted into law school.”

“You mean, when you get accepted,” Dean replied. He drove to the Roadhouse, telling Sam he’d catch up with Jo and Ellen for a bit before handing his little brother the keys.

* * *

Sam sighed, driving to the Bunker. He’d found it recently after researching with Charlie—she’d helped him find out that, on his dad’s side, his grandfather Henry was a member of the Men of Letters, a kind of slightly more secretive Justice League that had dwindled fairly recently. Well, he wasn’t going to pass up a free place to crash, especially a Men of Letters bunker.

He wondered briefly if his boyfriend would ask to visit, but dismissed the idea. Gabriel only ever asked Sam to visit him, claiming he was sick of college dorms, being a part-time janitor to help support his bakery.

Of course, Dean had flipped when he’d found out about Gabe—“He’s so much older than you, Sammy!” “But like you, he has the mentality of a twelve-year-old.” “Bitch!” Et cetera, and Gabriel had received the older brother talk, and had given Dean a fresh pie, and all was forgiven. This was nearly a year ago— _a year_. Sam had never had much luck with relationships—in high school, Jess had moved away, and Ruby had cheated on him, and Zeke was just a crush until Sam found out he was a jerk. So Gabriel was great.

They’d had some issues, but had worked through them. Gabriel, who had been able to always make Sam smile. Gabriel, who’d confessed to Sam that he had come from a large, religious family, but couldn’t deal with it and ran away to be a hedonist of the extreme variety. But Gabriel, who was a prankster with a sweet tooth, a runaway, who Sam told all of his insecurities to, who gave Sam all sorts of ridiculous nicknames, was so much to Sam by now.

And when Sam fell, he fell hard.

Once he’d set all of the boxes inside, he wondered if he’d tell Gabriel. He could imagine it. _“So, I’m a superhero, Gabe. I’m Legacy.” “No kidding, Samsquatch? You’ve been depriving me of a personal view of you in a spandex suit?”_ He could hear his boyfriend now.

But he was nervous all the same—he knew that it wasn’t ideal to have a superhero boyfriend, to keep to yourself different facts about your life. He knew it was dangerous. And he wouldn’t even put Dean through it if he could help it—Dean, when they’d moved around a lot, had said he didn’t really need an “apple pie, white picket fence” life. Sam knew better, though—Dean needed more than a life of running to and from people that went bump in the nigh, and he was getting there with having a roommate and a steady job with their surrogate uncle Bobby.

Dean deserved a little normal after taking care of Sam all his life.


	2. Demon Deal Shutdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get some action from our heroes and learn a little more about each of them.

Dean downed a shot just as Sam returned. 

“Hey, Sammy,” he grinned, waving him over.  Sam grinned. 

“Dean—how many have you had?”

“One—you have no faith,” he poked Sam in the shoulder.  The younger brother rolled his eyes. 

“Right.  Remember the Purple Nurples the one time?”  And was satisfied by the scowl and red crawling up his brother’s neck.

* * *

Castiel sighed. 

“So you want these three articles finished by tomorrow?”

“On my desk by noon,” Naomi, his boss, replied crisply, not looking up from her tablet. 

Castiel nodded, mumbled a thank you, and left. 

“Hey, watch it,” scolded a voice as he ran right into another person.  “Be glad I wasn’t carrying a coffee.”

“Sorry, Meg. Was distracted.”  The writer snorted. 

“Right, Clarence,” the short brunette snorted.  “Naomi got you on a deadline?”

“Tomorrow at noon,” he shrugged.  She shook her head. 

“She works you to the bone.  You look like shit,” and that was why they were friends—she wasn’t one to mince words, and he was a little oblivious, so he was grateful for her honesty. 

“Well, I’m heading home for the night.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

“Charlie, got anything on the radar tonight?” Dean asked once he’d locked himself in his room.  Cas had come home, they’d had dinner and talked about their days, then went to their rooms. 

“Hm . . . well here’s one.  How about the Cold Oak warehouse has a huge drug shipment to be busted tonight?” she asked, grin apparent even though they could not see one another. 

“Got any back up?”

“All three of the usual.  You guys should really consider teaming up.”  Dean scoffed. 

“Right.  The psychic nerd junkie, a dude with five bucks to his name, a sugar-high maniac, and Mr. Comatose standing up.”

She snorted at that, “Well, when you put it that way . . . sending the coordinates to all three of you.  I’ll be in your ear in an hour, you know, when the police get there.”  Dean ginned and pulled off his extra layers, throwing on his mask and sneaking out through his window. 

* * *

 

Gabriel wiped down the last table, turned the sign to “closed”, locked the entrances, and checked his phone.  Nothing from Sam yet, but he was moving his stuff—however, Charlie had sent him coordinates and a quick explanation— _Demon Blood Shipment.  Other three are on their way_.  He grinned, snapped his fingers, and disappeared. 

* * *

“So, you realize that working for Azazel kind of puts you on my hit list,” Legacy said calmly behind the girl in a leather jumpsuit and red-lace-mask.  She jumped, whipping around with a knife in hand. 

“Demon Blood has nothing to do with him.   I’m here to give people powers so they don’t have to rely on people like _you_.”

“So instead they depend on you as a dealer?” Hunter phased through the wall of the warehouse, cracking his knuckles.  The woman glared. 

“You two think you can handle all of my demons?” And the people who were high on the drug—eyes dark like midnight, numb to pain and possessing unusual strength—seemed to melt out of the shadows.

“I am certain we can,” growled a voice from across the room.  The woman hissed at the sight of Enoch joining. 

“Another hero crawling out of the floorboards?  You wouldn’t come here if you didn’t think I was a threat.”

“Nah, joining in on the fun makes things easier.  For us, that is,” a sarcastic voice cut in, the Trickster suddenly standing in the center of the floor. 

“Attack!” the woman snarled, and the fight began. 

The demons were everywhere.

“Trickster, distract them!” called out Enoch, “I’ll take them out.  Hunter, make sure the shipment doesn’t leave this warehouse.  Legacy, handle her!”  Enoch called out the commands like a soldier in charge, and everyone set in motion exactly as he said.  They’d learned over time that when they worked together on and off, the first one to come up with a plan was usually right.  It tended to be Enoch in situations with a lot of enemies—he was a good strategist. 

“And so this is it?  Controlling people that need another fix?  Being Azazel’s minion?” Legacy asked, deflecting her knife strikes with scrap metal he flung in front of himself with his mind. 

“I don’t answer to Azazel.  I work with him, not for him,” she said with a smirk.  “I take orders from a much higher power.  One that will wipe you out, Legacy.” 

“They can try,” Sam allowed, glaring at her. 

The Trickster was making sweeping hand gestures that seemed to throw the demons into a state of confusion, which made it easier for Enoch to knock them out and quickly purge the demon blood from their systems.  They’d go into withdrawal, but not as excessively as they would if there were still traces of the drug in their veins. 

"What are you making them see?"

"Various impossible situations including Pirates of the Caribbean characters."  Enoch frowned, but continued to knock them out.  

“Hey, you there!  Hands off the blood!” shouted the Hunter at a demon who was loading the containers into a crate.  The guy froze. 

“That’s right, hands where I can see them!”  He held the gun up at the guy, who put his hands up only to whip a throwing knife at the Hunter.  The silver blade made a distinct clatter as it hit the ground, bent out of shape. 

“Wh—what?” the guy spluttered.  The Hunter laughed. 

“You need to brush up on your supers or something.  Clearly you don’t know who I am.”

The woman’s knife clattered to the ground, and Legacy had her wrists bound. 

“What, you can’t just control humans on their own?” she spat.  Legacy frowned. 

“I won’t do that unless it’s necessary.”

“So if a life is in danger,” she chuckled, “You’re so damn _humble_.  You could _use_ your powers so much more.  But you don’t want to hurt anyone so you hold back.  How cavity-inducing,” she snorted.  She kicked upwards, but Legacy caught her ankle and held it so she wouldn’t be able to struggle without falling on her face. 

That was how they were when the fight was over. 

“What’s your name?” she asked curiously, “While we’re waiting for the authorities?”

“Legacy.  I’m not telling you my secret identity, Ruby,” Legacy responded with a frown.  He’d looked into her thoughts to figure out if there were more demons—thankfully not—but had been surprised to find her mind to be the same as his ex-girlfriend.  If Dean knew he dated a demon Super in high school, he’d flip. 

The authorities, and of course, the press came.  A dark-haired woman came up to Enoch, pen in hand. 

“Meg Masters, Garrison True Voice—are you four going to team up officially?”

“I’ve been considering asking the others about it, but nothing concrete.  We’ll have to discuss it alone,” Enoch responded, dodging a real answer. 

“Why do you fight the demons, sometimes other supers?  The local police force handles most of the actual crime.  The Host could parcel out missions for you,” she pointed out. 

“It is our choice whether we help or not,” Hunter pointed out.  “I don’t know about the rest of them, but I want to help where I can.  We have abilities most people don’t, so we save people, and hunt things that threaten them.”

“Your choice . . . Team Free Will, then?” she smirked.

“We’ll copyright it if we team up,” shrugged the Trickster, “Now get out of our way so we can make that decision.”  She backed off with a small smile, and Enoch spread his wings to fly. 

“Uh, guys, I kind of can’t—” Hunter pointed out, but Trickster rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers, suddenly dropping them onto the roof of an office building. 

“This’ll be more private,” he suggested.  “I want nothing to do with the Asgard anymore. I quit a long time ago, did my own thing.  But having some people to have your back—I miss that bit.”

“I was a full time member of the Host until very recently,” Enoch admitted, “They still occasionally send me missions, but I’m not obligated to report to them as often anymore.”

“I can get us all into a Bunker for meetings and training,” Legacy volunteered. 

“You have your own batcave?” asked Hunter, grinning, “I wouldn’t mind having some help I can count on.  I’m all for it.”

“Nice, Legs,” Trickster grinned.  _Really?  Legs?_

“Team Free Will, then?” asked Enoch. 

“Team Free Will,” the rest agreed.

“I’m not showing my civilian face to you all yet, no offence.  I’ve been doing my own little witness protection for years now,” Trickster said. 

“Sure,” shrugged Hunter, “On your own time.  Same here.” 

“I’ll show you all where the bunker is, then we can get settled and move on,” nodded Legacy. 

The four of them opened the doors minutes later, marveling at the base. 

“Yep, definitely a batcave, underground and everything,” Hunter remarked. 

“It's a Men of Letters bunker, but cute,” snorted Legacy, “Just don’t break anything, Robin.”

“Whoa, whoa whoa, _I’m_ Batman here.  Most of my powers are physical-combat things, so basically I’m a cheaper version, but more durable.”  Trickster chuckled. 

“What does that make the rest of us?”

“Legacy’s Robin, Enoch’s Alfred, and you’re the Bat dog,” smirked Hunter. 


	3. Tricksters and Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tells his boyfriend something important and gets a surprise in return.

“Hey Sam, there’s the newspaper, mind telling me the headlines while I cook?”  Sam snorted—Gabriel had admitted, on multiple occasions, that he just liked hearing Sam’s voice.  Of course it was dinner time, so it was the first time off that Gabe really had with Sam on Fridays. 

“All right . . . headline, Team Free Will Shuts Down Demon Deals,” he read on the front page, eyes widening. 

“Team Free Will? Who’re those?”

“Hunter, Legacy, Trickster, Enoch—they’ve teamed up,” Sam kept his voice even. 

“Really?  Awesome! Think Trickster has annoyed the hell out of Legacy and Hunter yet?  Enoch doesn’t seem to react to much.”

“Probably not,” Sam snorted—and it was true.  Of course he knew that Trickster could be very annoying if he so chose—he’d already occasionally pranked the rest of them before they’d even teamed up.  But he had yet to do so just yet.  Which led Sam to why he was at Gabriel’s apartment today. 

“Ah, Gabe . . . I . . . y’know, we’re coming up on our first anniversary,” Sam began awkwardly. 

“Yup! Glad to know that you haven’t forgotten,” Gabriel quipped, ladling his soup into bowls. 

“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he continued, and Gabriel stopped. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!  In fact, it’s . . . kind of a good thing, depending on your reaction,” Sam sighed.  The shorter man frowned.  But Sam was determined to do this—under his flannel shirt and jacket, under his jeans, he was wearing his suit, and his mask was in his pocket. 

“A surprise?” a curl of a smile.

“I haven’t told anyone this, okay?  It’s just, things have been going so well, and I want to trust you with this,” he confessed, taking off his jacket. 

“Hm?”

“Close your eyes.  No peeking,” Sam said, and his boyfriend complied with a smile.  He took off his jeans and shirt, put on his mask, and took his hands.

“Sam, I’m dying to know,” squirmed the shorter man.  Sam grinned for a moment, relishing in it.  Hopefully Gabe wouldn’t hate him for keeping the secret . . .

“Open them,” Sam encouraged.  Gabriel did and stared, eyes dragging from Sam’s eyes to the rest of the outfit.

“Are you really—” 

“Yeah,” Sam waved a hand and set the table telekinetically.  Gabriel’s eyes were wide, mouth wide open. 

“This is . . . well, that was unexpected,” a little disbelieving laugh. 

“Yeah, I know, not the kind of thing you would think about with a boyfriend,” Sam shrugged.  Gabriel shook his head. 

“No, that’s not it.  Just, what are the chances, Legs?” It wasn’t like Supers were rare, though maybe . . . wait— _Legs_?

“Please tell me you’re saying what I think you are—” Gabriel raised one hand familiarly, snapping himself into another familiar outfit. 

“ _Damn_ ,” Sam cursed.  The mustache threw him off, but otherwise that was definitely all Gabe.  And, it seemed, all Trickster, too. 

“You look good in spandex, Sammoose,” Gabriel chuckled.  Sam shook his head.  _Of course._  

“You too.”

* * *

 

Castiel frowned at Meg’s story.  He’d edited it, not written, sure—but still there was the chance that he’d added some sort of bias.  She’d written it well, though, and there had been little changed.  He flipped through the pages to other articles—nothing caught his eye. 

“Hey, Cas, got the paper?”

“Not much of import, unless you follow supers.  Team Free Will,” he pointed at the front page, handing it to his roommate. 

“Thanks, man . . .”  Dean tended to read from the Lawrence, Crossroads, and Garrison newspapers when he could to get an update from people who knew how to write.  Of course, he only really read the True Voice because Cas was an editor. 

“Huh.  Team Free Will.  Coulda come up with a better name,” he said, eyeing it.  _Dude, how in hell am I gonna keep this from Sam and Cas?_

* * *

 

“So the Host is your family?  I mean, I knew you had ten siblings, but . . .”

“Some of the newer additions, no—of course, since I ran off, I don’t get updates,” he shrugged, “Like Enoch?  No clue where he came from.  But out of my siblings . . . Mike started it with Dad.  Do you promise not to use this against them, blah blah blah?”

“Of course.  I’ll keep my mouth shut unless you give the ok.”

“Good.  Well, Luc followed, but quit a little after the youngest was born.  I joined, so did Raph.  A friend took over to take care of us technically, but really it was Mike and Dad.  Dad was seriously powerful, believe it or not . . . could warp reality, change the very substance of things at will . . . though he didn’t really use his powers once we got working.  He just kind of delegated.  Mom didn’t have any powers.  All of us have the same basic powers with a few specialties.  Wings, healing, super strength.  But then Mike—he could transform his sword into any weapon he wanted.  Luc could convince anyone to do anything, and could send you on a trip with a snap of his fingers.  Raphael—well, he was _really_ good at healing, and had this weird empath thing going on where he could sense what people felt.  Creepy stuff.”  Sam snorted—he remembered vaguely seeing a picture of Lucifer somewhere in Gabriel’s albums that he’d shared a few weeks before. 

“And well, you know me.  Illusions, teleportation.  Hannah had precognition, but only within twenty-four hours of anything happening.  Uriel knew how to push people’s buttons—literally.  Like charisma or asshole on steroids, just like that, depending on what he wanted.  Balthazar had some time-bending abilities, able to slow down in time or speed up, maybe even stop it.  It takes a toll on him to do it for extended periods, so I imagine he only really does it when he has to.  And the rest, as far as I know, don’t have powers.  At all.  I left, and even though I still get calls and stuff, I don’t get any info on the actual inner workings of the Host.”

“Huh.  So what if Cas is a member?” Sam imagined Castiel, Anna, Ambriel or Samandriel with wings, and just couldn’t.  Gabriel snorted. 

“Then he’s probably in over his head.  Kid doesn’t know how to work a waffle maker; imagine him trying to beat a demon.”

* * *

 

“Dean?  Could you help me with the waffle maker?”

“Dammit, Cas, I told you I’d teach you how to use it this weekend,” Dean chided.  Really, sometimes Cas was like a toddler—he didn’t get technology very well, and was more interested in literary classics than pop culture.  Dean had had to drag his roommate on more than one occasion into the living room to have a movie marathon to fill him in. 

“But I was trying to make breakfast for dinner.”  And the face that Castiel made—well, it was kind of adorable.  _Dean, stop, your roommate is not adorable. . ._  the frustrated almost-pout and big blue eyes?  Yeah, okay, it was freaking adorable. 

Dean may or may not have a slight crush on the guy. 

“Well, then, you should have called me in to help,” he sighed, “Believe it or not Cas, we’re friends, and you don’t have to do things alone.” 

“I don’t want to be, as you called me once, a ‘baby in a trench coat’,” he replied.  

“Yeah, well, it was hard to believe you’d been so . . . uneducated in the things I take for granted,” Dean shrugged. "I didn't mean that you were helpless or anything."

“Just as I believed your lack of ability to communicate made you a hammer,” Castiel chuckled. 

* * *

 

The basement was dark, save for the yellow-orange glow that some of the lamps offered.  The long table had people sitting on either side, with a tall man with white wings at the head. 

“Project Apocalypse is going smoothly, then?” he asked, turning to his left.  Yellow-Eyes, a man famous for arson cases and for never getting caught, nodded eagerly. 

“Yes, Master.  We’ve gathered different points of information on the possible whereabouts of the Horsemen, and Crowley has been testing ways to counteract the serum that keeps them dormant.”

“That’s all fine but . . . I’m a little more concerned about the Seals—how are those coming?”  Yes, the steps to his plan, codenamed Seals, were set up.  He had many, but he only needed sixty-six to complete his plan, provided specific ones began and ended it. 

“I’ve been trying to find the First Seal,” volunteered a man with white eyes, “The Righteous Man will break.  I’ll be sure of it.”

“You’d better be, Alastair.  Snapping necks and cashing checks is what I do—I’d hate to have one of my best men getting his neck snapped daily,” he said coolly.  Others in the room shuddered at the implications.  The Devil turned again to the person at the table who had glowing yellow eyes. 

“Now.  I want to know what you’ve learned.  Where is my vessel?”


	4. New Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Sam and Dean talk and Destiel!

“I swear to god, if that dumbass lays a hand on you the wrong way, Sammy, I _will_ kick his ass,” Dean assured.  Sam shook his head.  They were at a small diner for lunch, just talking. 

“You don’t have anything to worry about, Dean.  Look, I know Gabe isn’t exactly what you’d expect for me, but I swear, we’re really good for each other.”  Dean frowned. 

“You’ve been getting a lot of bruises and cuts, Sam, don’t think I haven’t noticed.  If it’s him,” Dean warned. Sam froze, then shook his head. 

“God, no, it’s not like that at all, I swear,” Sam shook his head dismissively, “He didn’t do anything, Dean.  I could ask the same of you—I _notice_ , you know,” he grit his teeth.  He wouldn’t look into Dean’s mind—wouldn’t do that to his brother without permission, and that was never happening.  “That scarring is more than a couple of bar fights’ worth. And no, the salvage yard is _not_ that dangerous.”

“What can I say?  I’m a professional asshole when I get drunk.”

“Believe me, I know,” Sam frowned, “But that doesn’t explain it.  Whatever you think you can hide from me, Dean . . . I know you won’t give unless I push.  So unless you’re willing to spill—”

“Sammy,” Dean said, a little choked up, “I just don’t want to bring you into it.  I don’t want you being a part of the shitfest I’ve got going on.”

“Don’t make my decisions for me, Dean,” Sam growled, “You know perfectly well that I’m smart enough to decide on my own.  You don’t even know half the stuff _I’ve_ gotten into, and you think you can protect me from whatever you’ve got going on?”

“I can and I will, Sam.”

“Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret, dammit,” the younger brother seethed.  He did _not_ want to read Dean’s mind. 

“Like what?  Make me tell you?  As if you could,” he chuckled darkly, “You don’t know.”

“Then let me know.  Talk to me, Dean.  Whatever it is—you’re doing something dangerous, and I need to know.  If this . . . I don’t know.  If this is such a big secret . . .”

“I’m a super, Sammy,” Dean interrupted, “And I ain’t telling you who.  All you need to know is that—”

“Stop. Stop right there.  You’re shitting me,” Sam stared.  “You’re kidding, right?  This is—” and moments later, Sam was laughing. 

“What?  What the hell Sam?” Dean was annoyed now, “I’ve been keeping this from you since you were twelve so you could live a normal geeky life, and you laugh?”

“I should totally be mad at you, but I’m not.  Because _I’ve_ been hiding _my_ powers since I was ten.  God, Dean, first Gabe, now you—”

“Gabe too?!” Dean was floored, “And he found out about this before me?!”

“To be fair Dean, I wasn’t going to tell you at all.  Like you weren’t going to tell me.”  Dean’s anger began to fizzle out—Sam was right. 

“ _Shit_.  Uh, wow, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, “You, me, Gabriel—wait, who is Gabriel?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out at some point.  I really shouldn’t tell you,” Sam shrugged, “It’s not my secret.”

“You’re not wrong . . . I’m just . . . this is kind of unreal.  So.  Wanna meet up for some beers later?”

“Yeah, maybe.  I kind of promised Gabe we’d have a date before either of us patrolled, though—”

“Go ahead, tiger.  Just don’t let him distract you and get you in trouble, okay?  I . . . wow, Sammy.  I’m proud of you, y’know.”

“Thanks Dean.  As soon as our super selves get acquainted enough to tell each other . . . well . . .”

“Who says we can’t tell each other now?” Dean challenged, but sighed. 

“Yeah.  There are some things I’ve done I’m not proud of.  You don’t want to know, Sammy.”  Sam frowned. 

“But—“

“I’m not a villain or anything, dude, just . . . for a while there . . . there’s some dark stuff you don’t want to know about.  So we’ll just agree not to pry and leave this chick flick moment behind?”

“I guess so . . .”

* * *

Ruby shook her head. 

“I don’t _know_ who they are, Azazel!  They didn’t even know each other when I fought them.  I just lost to Legacy.  He’s stronger than he led me to believe,” she grumbled, rubbing her wrists that were sore from the cuffs when she’d been caught. 

“He’s been in your mind, though.  He knows who you are,” Yellow Eyes hissed in her ear.  “We can’t let him have that upper hand, Ruby.”

“He knew my name.  He told me he couldn’t give me why.  I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I’ll have to just send Roman into the files then,” he mused, “Because I need to figure out Team Free Will.  And Legacy and Hunter are the priorities for the Devil.”

“Understood,” she nodded, “Now are you sending me a new mask?”

“Word of advice, before I agree—dye your hair.  We can’t have them seeing the same person automatically and taking you down again.  Remind me why you’re dealing with Supers?”  She grinned a little. 

“My sister Lilith gives me power when I need it.  I usually don’t.”

“Clearly you do, or I wouldn’t have had to break you out of jail.”

“That was a mistake.  I won’t let Team Free Will past me this time.”

* * *

 

Castiel started flipping through channels mindlessly until he hit a documentary on bees.  He watched, fascinated, and shuffled through his paperwork in his lap before putting it aside in favor of the program. 

“Hey, Cas?”  Dean came in, like he usually did, a little grimy from the auto shop. 

“Yes, Dean?  How was your day?”

“Good, good . . . yours?”

“Nothing interesting.” 

“After dinner would you mind if I talked to you for a bit?”

“Not at all.”  Castiel wondered what it would be about. 

Truth be told—and Castiel had only ever lied when necessary—he had known Dean before Dean knew him.  A few weeks before they became roommates, he’d found Dean fighting and losing to thugs in an alleyway along Perdition Avenue.  They were beating him, and he wasn’t even trying to fight back.  As Enoch, Castiel dispatched the thugs and made a call to police before laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder, which was badly mangled by the roughhousing and the few stab wounds that had gotten in.  Castiel had never healed very complicated wounds—that being more of a specialty for others in the Host.  He was more of a soldier. 

Still, he’d healed Dean, but not without burning a handprint into his shoulder as a lasting impact of the effort it took.  When he’d met his roommate weeks later, he’d struggled to keep a straight face and not kiss the man—because what Dean had been doing getting beaten up, was distracting them so that a young woman that had been nearly mugged or worse could run away.  If that wasn’t a good man, Castiel didn’t know the definition. 

Obviously, after getting to know him, Castiel was head over heels for Dean Winchester. 

So Castiel approached their conversation with some trepidation.  Dean didn’t know that he was Enoch.  If something were to go wrong—well, Castiel wouldn’t exactly be the happiest member of the Host. 

After they’d put away dishes, Dean sighed. 

“Okay, Cas, I . . . you know I suck at talking about feelings.  Just . . . I know we’ve been friends for a while now, and . . . would you consider . . . going out with me?” Castiel gaped.  Dean actually returned his feelings?

“Yes.  Absolutely,” Castiel said, nodding vigorously and coming closer.  Dean chuckled nervously. 

“Really?  I, uh—didn’t think I would get this far,” he said, smiling.  So Castiel kissed him, like he’d been wanting to for months. 

* * *

Dean waited for Sam to pick up.  

"Hey, Dean.  What's up?"

“I did it, Sammy, I asked Cas out.”

“Yes!  Now Gabe owes me twenty, and Bobby owes me five!”

“You were _betting_ on me?!”

“Betting on how long it would take for you to get your head out of your ass.  Where’s your first date then?”

“I didn’t even tell you that he said yes.”

“But he did, right?”

“Dammit, Sam!”


	5. Smoking Gun, Smoking Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lovely Destiel fluff and such!

Legacy and Trickster were handling the robbery while Enoch and Hunter were searching for the bomb that was threatened to be in the office building on the other end of town. 

“Dammit, Enoch, _move_ ,” Hunter ground out, having located the bomb but being unsure of where to take it or dismantle it.  In moments the fluttering of wings announced the hero’s arrival. 

“I’m here.  I have an idea—if I fly it high enough into the sky, then you shoot it, the bomb will only explode midair.”

“But it’ll explode on _you_.  Kinda counterproductive, don’t you think?”

“I will toss it and fly away.  You will just have to be quick,” he answered back. 

“Got it.  Let’s go.”

Castiel had the beeping mechanism in his hands.  Once he was a safe distance from the buildings, he chucked it upwards and flew down, shouting for Hunter to shoot.  The explosion burned behind his wings, singing some of the feathers.  He winced, but landed safely, just a foot in front of Hunter, wings smoking and spread wide like shadows.  Hunter looked up at them.  _Damn, as beautiful as when he saved me—_

“Dammit, Enoch, I thought we talked about this—personal space,” snapped Hunter.

“I’m sorry.  When my wings aren’t smoking I’ll keep that in mind,” the gravelly voice grated back. 

“Hmph.”  Hunter did not want to go down that road—he knew perfectly well that Enoch had pulled him from Perdition Avenue when he’d been acting civilian, but Enoch didn’t know that.  He didn’t need to feel like he owed the guy. 

 _Hey guys, could use a little help,_ requested Legacy telepathically, _Alastair’s here._   Damn.  The Hunter knew Alastair all too well—the Super was not someone to take lightly. 

Enoch nodded. 

“I can take you there,” he said, hooking an arm under Dean’s. 

“Whoa, whoa, I’m not a flyer for a reason, buddy—eep!” and he would forever deny that he squeaked when his feet left the ground. 

“Would that reason be a fear of flying?” chuckled Enoch. 

“Shuddup,” Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, not willing to find out just how high they were flying or how fast, “Just don’t drop me.” 

* * *

 

Castiel fumbled with his tie—he wanted to look a little less unkempt tonight, but it clearly wasn’t working.  His first official date with Dean—they had agreed that neither of them really wanted to go anywhere extremely fancy, so they settled on the Roadhouse, a family-owned place.  Still, he wanted to be his best, especially when Dean so effortlessly seemed to be perfect. 

Dean ran a hand through his hair before opening the door of his Baby for Castiel.  The drive was quiet, but not awkwardly so, and Dean practically buzzed with warmth at having Castiel by his side.  For a while he felt—well, not normal, but more right.  More at ease.  And that was something he didn’t usually feel. 

He told Castiel as much, and he blushed at the proclamation. 

“Dean, that’s very kind of you . . . really.”  As the night progressed, both men settled closer to one another.  After they’d finished their burgers and fries, Castiel sighed. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.  Castiel shook his head. 

“Nothing at all, Dean . . . everything is wonderful.  I am content.  I just wish things could be like this all the time.  Calm, easy.”

“I do too, Cas.  This world is too crazy,” he shook his head, “And being with you . . . you know I’m not good with feelings crap, but . . . it doesn’t take the craziness away.  Just makes it easier to deal with, y’know? You make me feel . . . and this is a laugh, because no one else does . . . you make me feel safe.”  Castiel tensed. 

“Dean . . . I know this is only our first date but . . . I’ve known you for so long and . . . I trust you.”  Dean frowned—what, was Castiel going to admit he’d been stringing Dean along, or that he had some weird bad relationship?”

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.” 

* * *

Alastair grinned, wounded but not completely down. 

“I’ve nearly cracked the Righteous Man.  I just need to track him down while he’s alone.”

“Bring my dogs with you, Al,” drawled Crowley, “They seem to like you enough.  They’ve been needing some way to release pent-up aggression.”  Which was a lie—the dogs fought and ran like mad all the time; there was nothing pent-up about them. 

“I will once I’ve found him.  Thank you, Crowley.” 

* * *

“Cas.”

“Yes Dean?”

“You’re Enoch.  Big black wings, angel blade, all that?”

“Yes.”

“Son of a bitch . . .” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face to try and compose himself. 

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked, worried. 

“Nothing at all, Cas . . .” Dean mimicked from their earlier conversation, “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“No you’re not—Dean, what’s going on?”  Dean took a shaking breath, holding down all his possible anger.  This was Cas—still his Cas, just with wings and a night job that he happened to be a part of. 

“It was Hell, is what it was.  Those thugs—they were on demon blood, after a little girl, and I had to stop them, but didn’t have enough time to change, so I went in, civilian-style, and got the crap kicked out of me long enough for her to run.  But they wouldn’t stop even when I got up—until you got me.”

“How do you know they were on demon blood?  Their eyes weren’t showing yet,” Castiel frowned now.  Dean grinned wearily. 

“Yes they were.  Just on the level that most Supers can perceive.  I’m Hunter, Cas.”  Castiel’s eyes widened, his head tilting in confusion until—

“Son of a bitch.”

“That’s my line,” Dean chuckled. 

“You—we—Dean, I still—”

“I still care about you, Cas.  I’m totally fine if you want to—“

“Shut up,” Castiel demanded, and well, Dean wasn’t one to back down from a kiss once the brunette leaned forward and pressed his lips to his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a question on what rating do you guys think I should move up to? I haven't decided yet how far I'll actually take it. It'll be my first smut fic if I get that far, but I'm not opposed to doing it that way. I'd rather ask those who are actually reading it for their opinions though, since I'm not sure.


	6. Can't Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just moving the story along with some reveals and such. Also, Sam prepares to go out, and Lucifer plots.

It was late when Castiel received the call. 

“General?  Yes.  It’s me.  What do you have for me? . . . No, I will not do any jobs with the others anymore; I’m part of Team Free Will now . . . yes, it’s legitimate . . . just because Herald left doesn’t mean that you get to keep me on a tight leash— _I know_.  Hell is after the Righteous Man, then?  Right.  I have a few leads on his civilian identity and am keeping close tabs on him.  No, I’m not bringing him anywhere near you.  You know I don’t like working with Revelation; he aggravates me.  I can at least tolerate Ark.  I could go on a mission with someone from my team, preferably.  No, General.  Yes, General.  . . . Goodbye.” 

“What was that, Cas?”

“The General of the Host.  He wants me to protect someone that both the Host and Hell have codenamed ‘The Righteous Man’.  Apparently whoever gets him on their side can tip off ‘project apocalypse’ and do some major damage.”

“So basically you’re doing the job, just not for them?”

“Pretty much. After all, the Righteous Man _is_ my boyfriend, and I have to look after him anyway,” Castiel gave a tiny smirk, and Dean laughed, disbelieving. 

“Me?  The Host and Hell are after me?”

“Yes.  And I will do whatever I can to keep their hands off of you—I may have been a member of the Host, but I do not trust the General around you.  You’d dislike him, I bet.”

“Why d’you say that?”

“He’s like you without a sense of humor,” Castiel replied, “Or your affinity for putting others before yourself.  He helps others only because it’s his orders.  He’s loyal to Light despite his absence.  And he’s highly protective of the Host, calling us brothers.”  Dean tensed. 

“Cas . . . how many members of the Host are there?”

“Seven, not including myself.”

“By chance . . . including members that have left . . . how many is that?”

“Eleven.”  Castiel’s eyes widened considerably. 

“No, you don’t think—“

“I mean, not too many people I know have ten siblings,” Dean said.  Castiel’s eyes were now like blue saucers. 

“That—it—why didn’t I see it?”

“Hey, we’re all trying to keep our secrets secret, Cas.  You were probably too busy hiding to notice that they were, too.”

“Just—that means—the General is _Michael_.  And, and—Gabriel.  Who is Gabriel? He—he broke off with Mike after Morning Star and Herald took off—but so did Lucifer,” he muttered, trying to figure it out. 

“Cas, Cas, calm down.  Y’know what?  What was Herald like, when you knew him?”

“Sarcastic.  All about ‘serving justice to douches’.”  Dean frowned. 

“And all of you guys have wings, right?” 

“Herald’s were gold— _Dean_ , Gabriel was Herald!  Had to have been—he was so _short_ ,” he chuckled after a moment. 

“ _Was_ Herald.  What short guy has any semblance of golden wings that we know of?” And as the pieces fell into place, Dean felt more and more stupid. 

“Trickster—oh, God, Dean.”

“And Sammy was telling me how Gabe and he were both Supers, but wouldn’t tell me who,” Dean mused.  Castiel’s eyes widened. 

“Sam _too_? What the—we’re Team Free Will and didn’t even realize it.  We’re assbutts,” he grumbled, which forced a laugh out of Dean.  _Sammy could’ve just read my mind to find out—but he didn’t.  I owe it to him to tell him._

“Why don’t we head over to the Bunker tomorrow and surprise them?”

* * *

 

Sam gave Gabriel a peck on the cheek. 

“Y’know, we could probably tell them,” Gabriel admitted, “Hunter’s okay, and Enoch’s quiet.  They could be trusted.”

“Yeah, and if I’m going to trust them with my identity, I’m trusting them with my family too—but I agree.  So.  Let’s suit up and ask them if they’re okay with revealing—I won’t let them know unless they’re okay with us knowing.”

“Right.”

So Legacy and Trickster went into the Bunker as normal. 

“Enoch?  Hunter?” called Trickster. 

No answer.  They poked around, hearing muttering coming from the meeting room. 

So when Legacy opened the door to find Hunter and Enoch kissing, sans masks, he nearly ran right back out. 

“Get a freaking room,” grumbled Trickster.  But then the two turned towards them—no masks. 

“Heya.  So.  We deduced who you two are by accident, so it’s only fair that you know who we are.  Right, Sammy?” 

Sam gaped, and Gabriel laughed. 

“ _Dean?”_

“Cassie, totally would not have pinned you as Enoch.  Figured that might have been Uriel.”  Castiel made a face. 

“Surely you expect more of me, Gabe.”

“I know, I know.  It’s been a while since I’ve had anything to do with the Host, though.”

“Right.  You were with Asgard for a while.”  Gabriel made a face. 

“Thor’s an asshole.”  Everyone burst out laughing. 

“Takes one to know one, Gabe,” Castiel teased. 

“And here we were gonna have a big, fancy reveal, and you guys figured us out,” Gabriel grumbled. 

“Can’t let you have all the fun,” Dean quipped. 

* * *

The database on Project Apocalypse was growing.  Six-hundred sixty-six events planned—with a few necessary ones, so long as sixty-six total occurred.  The first Seal had broken almost a year before, and now the next steps were being taken. 

The Devil stretched, a lazy smirk crossing his features. 

“Master?” inquired a red-haired woman—Crowley’s mother, from the Coven, who he’d found had an infatuation with him.  A loyal follower.  “What is the point of the Seals?”

“To draw out the vessels, free the Horsemen, and finish off the Host,” the Devil replied. 

“Then who are the vessels, what are they for?”

“To open the door for my brother and I to end the world,” the Devil said quietly, staring past her. 

“Won’t the horsemen do that?  They are quite formidable,” she said doubtfully. 

“In a sense.  They will spread the beginning of the end,” he smirked. 

* * *

Meg was writing about a local politician this week, snorting as she handed it to Castiel. 

“The superhero is so much more interesting, Clarence.  Wish that was my only job.  But Naomi’s a bitch and keeps giving the best stuff to Metadouche.”

“Metatron is her favorite,” Castiel shrugged. 

“Ugh.  Well.  I was thinking, my little unicorn, you want to go for drinks later?”

“Is that a flirtation?”

“If you want it to be,” she smiled.  Castiel sighed. 

“I have a boyfriend—my roommate, Dean.”

“Aw, the good-looking ones are always gay or taken—you’re both,” she sighed, “No harm.  We can still grab drinks after?  And we can check out the hot guys at the bar,” she waggled her eyebrows. 

“Perhaps,” he allowed, a small smile forming on his lips. 

* * *

 

Sam was losing his train of thought as he listened to the lecture in his speech class.  He’d never really understand how he managed to end up in Team Free Will that way. 

After all, he’d always figured he was a freak.  He’d first suspected he had powers when he’d dreamt of his best friend Brady breaking his arm—then it happening the next day.  He was only a kid then, and it already freaked him out.  The next problem came with his dad—he always picked up on the man’s thoughts, and when they argued it only got worse because Sam knew exactly what the man was thinking. 

And then when he’d made the red paint container accidently explode in art class, well, that had been terrifying.  So he worked harder to hone his powers and make them manageable.  He learned to tune out of thoughts and controlled his telekinesis.  The visions were spastic and there wasn’t anything he could really do about them, though.  Sometimes, if he was lucky, he was able to stop bad things from happening from his visions, but not always. 

“. . . and, much like in written literature, language devices strengthen any speech . . .” droned on the professor. 

“Psst, Sam,” muttered his friend, Kevin, “You there buddy?  You looked a little spacey.”

“Yeah, I’m okay, Kev.  Just thinking.”

“Riiiiight,” the engineering major replied, rolling his eyes.  “Hey, are you going to the party tonight?  Garth, Charlie, and I were—“

“Sorry, man, I’d like to . . . I just . . .” and Sam hated bailing in the middle of things, so he just dropped it all completely. 

“You can cut the crap, y’know,” Charlie interrupted from the other side of Kevin, “I get that you’re busy and all, but get someone else to cover for you at whatever your job is and have some fun for once.  It can’t hurt.”

“I . . . I’ll see if I can call in a favor,” Sam sighed, “Maybe I’ll even get to bring Gabriel along.  I think you guys would like him.”

“Ooh, we finally get to hang out with the boyfriend!” laughed Charlie.

So, after class, Sam called Dean.

“Can you and Cas take over for tonight?  Kevin invited me and Charlie said to bring Gabe—yeah—I’ll do the cleanup, I was going to anyway, jerk . . . right.  Thanks.”  And with that, Sam grinned and turned to his friends. 

“I’ll tell Gabe.  He’ll be happy to know that he gets to take off for the night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny thing, I do know someone with ten siblings--my dad is the second youngest out of eleven. So I knew I could get away with this one lol


	7. Hail the Boy King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything basically falls apart for the Winchesters in this chapter, and the General has a meeting with a couple of members of the Host.

“Yellow Eyes,” asked the Devil, “Have you gotten your children assembled?”

“I just need one more, Master,” replied the man with a grin, “And this time I’ll use my real daughter to get to him.  She’s quite a capable girl.”

“Good,” nodded the man with the white wings, “Now if I could get the sisters to cooperate so successfully . . .” he mused. 

“Perhaps send in the other sister?” suggested Alastair, raising an eyebrow. 

“Perhaps.  The next Seal, once you find me my Boy King, is up to the Host.”  The Devil leaned over a chessboard, except the pieces had symbols **.**  A silver _L_  was on the black piece king.  He moved a bishop to knock over a pawn. 

“Your turn, General,” he grinned. 

* * *

The party was fun.  Sam got to hang out with his friends and his boyfriend all at once.  He got to let loose for a while.

But days later, his world went up in smoke. 

“SAM!” screamed Dean into the phone, “It’s mom, she’s . . . and . . .”  Sam’s eyes widened. 

“Gabe, can you get me to Dean, ASAP?”

“Sure, Sammy,” the crease in the shorter man’s brow furrowed with worry. 

Once out of sight, Gabriel zapped them directly to the scene—Sam’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in a silent scream. 

His home was burning down. 

Fire was one thing he could not move—it had no physical substance he could grab onto, but that didn’t stop him from trying.  He sprinted towards the building, only to watch as all of the flames went out in an instant.  He kept running—what would a little debris do to him anyway?—and found himself in his old bedroom, staring up at his mother who had burst into flame again. 

“NO!” he shouted, but for all his willpower, she would not be free.  “MOM!”  Dean was suddenly yelling in his head and out loud, screaming for him to get out of the house.  The smoke, he said, and Sam felt woozy. 

Everything went black. 

* * *

Sam woke up in the hospital, groggy and heavy-feeling.  He tried to ask what had happened, but all that left his throat was a garbled groan. 

“Dammit, Sammy, you scared us,” Dean’s voice floated to his ears.  “Man, I—losing Mom is one thing, losing Dad after is even worse, but come on Sam, you can’t leave me alone here.”  So it wasn’t a nightmare.  Another, unfamiliar voice interrupted. 

“Hello. I have to check on him alone for a while, Dean.  You can come back in a minute.”  Dean grumbled something and left. 

“I’m Doctor Azazel Masters.  It’s quite a miracle that you survived that, Sam,” the doctor said.  Sam pried open his eyes to see a middle-aged man in scrubs and a white coat—definitely a doctor. 

“Mma?” he grunted out. 

“I’m afraid she didn’t make it.  And your father was so grief-stricken that . . . well . . . he was reckless, I’m afraid,” the man shrugged lightly.  Sam wasn’t sure what was so unsettling about the guy.  But his nonchalance might have something to do with it.  Then for some reason the guy was tying down his wrists and ankles.  In his delirious state he’d hardly noticed until it was too late. 

“You see, Sam, I set that fire,” he hissed quietly, and Sam struggled, but his limbs were too heavy. 

“And do you know what I’m doing now?  What has never been attempted before I chose my children?” Ha, like Sam could answer. 

“I’m feeding you my very own brand of demon blood, Sam.  You see, Hell has big plans, and you can be a part of them.  You'll be the king of Hell.”  And he took out the bag of red liquid that shone like oil on blacktop, and replaced the IV with it.  Sam screamed, beginning to feel the telltale high moments later, but his cries must have been too muffled for anyone to come to help. 

“Who?” was what he asked.  And the man’s eyes flickered yellow.

Sam passed out again.

Dean stared in horror as the demons held him back. 

“No, dammit, that’s my _brother,_ let me in!” he growled, half a mind to use his powers against them in public.  He’d gone back to check on Sam only to find the dickbag Yellow Eyes hooking his brother up to demon blood and holding him down. 

“Easy there, righteous man,” chuckled a voice in his ear, “You and your brother will bring on Project Apocalypse.  The Horsemen will return, and the Devil will control the Earth.  And he’ll have you two pawns to thank for it.”

“Alastair,” Dean growled, only to cut off in a howl as searing pain tore through him. 

“That’s right, my boy,” he grinned before shoving Dean to the ground.  There was a flutter of wings, and shouts. 

“I won’t allow this,” a fantastically familiar voice said. 

“Eno—“

“Oh, the little angel that could.  Tell me, are you here to save the Righteous Man from Hell again?”

“Of course, and to end you bastards.”  The white glow was too much for Dean’s eyes, and he covered them as each demon fell and Alastair began to cry out. 

The man with white eyes was cuffed and taken into custody a few hours later.  Yellow Eyes got away. 

* * *

The General turned. 

“You’re not suggesting that you want to side with him?” he asked coldly.  Revelation, a tall, dark-skinned man, replied. 

“And why not?  If Herald could run off, and Enoch play with Hunter, then I will decide for myself what I believe in.”

“But _the Devil_ ,” seethed the man next to the General, known as the Healer. 

“Brother, I will see him rise,” glared Revelation, and the sound of fluttering wings signaled his departure.  Another flutter brought in Ark, in battle armor that left little to the imagination, except for his face, completely covered. 

"My mission report, General?" the man drawled.  

"Get to it, Ark."

"Azazel got away, but he infected a man named Sam Winchester.  I believe that, of the children, Sam is likely to be the Boy King.  His brother is Dean, the Righteous Man."

"Is that so?  Was Alistair taken in?"

"Yeah, Mic--"

" _General_."

"General," drawled Ark, rolling his eyes emphatically, "This is ridiculous.  This whole hiding thing.  Wearing masks around one another, when we all know who’s sitting beside us.  You’d really lose another of our brothers, even if he is a real tosser? Uri-- _Revelation_ \--was bound to give in, hate to break it to you.”

“The young ones do not know, and because Enoch has left, we will not tell him,” the General replied stiffly.  Ark shook his head. 

“I have half a mind to walk out, too, you bloody douche.  Not for Hell, of course, but to be my own person.  I’m tired of the game.”

“It isn’t a game,” hissed the General. 

“You two sure treat it like one, talking about ordinary people like they don’t matter.  Last time I checked, the whole reason for the Host was to protect people.”

“I am, by taking down Hell.”

“And how many innocents will fall in the Apocalypse?  How many human lives are you really willing to risk in a pissing match between a couple of Super brothers that act like they're God's gift to the world, no matter their actions?”

“. . .”

"That's what I thought."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so just to clarify, these are the secret identities you're supposed to sort of know so far:  
> Light--Chuck/God  
> General--Michael  
> Devil--Lucifer  
> Healer--Raphael  
> Herald/Loki/Trickster--Gabriel  
> Revelation--Uriel  
> Ark--Balthazar  
> Yellow Eyes--Azazel Masters  
> Just if I wasn't completely clear so far. I'll update that every few chapters just in case. I might even just call it updates on Charlie's files lol. Also, was the chess thing cheesy? I liked the idea in my head, but I rewrote the way it went down so many times in my head that I don't know if it was actually any good.   
> Leave a comment down below!


	8. Demons and Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam fights to come down from the blood high, Castiel checks up on Meg, and Balthazar fights a pair of demon sisters with some help.

“Dean,” Sam whined, panting, “It’s . . . I’m not . . . I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Demon blood wasn’t meant for Supers,” Gabriel frowned, “There’s no telling what it’ll do in his system.  We can’t leave him at the hospital—for his sake and for everyone else’s.” 

“The question is, why did he come after us?” Dean grumbled. 

“Azazel, Yellow Eyes?” Sam asked.  The doctors had released him, the entire incident kept secret.  He was able to hide the effects of the drugs during the quick check-out questions, only now letting out his tremors in full force in the back of the Impala while Gabriel tried to comfort him. 

“Wait, he told you his name was Azazel?” asked Castiel, eyes widened. 

“Why?”

“Because my friend at work, Meg . . . Meg Masters, the reporter?  Her father’s name is Azazel Masters.”  Dean gripped the steering wheel more firmly. 

“You think she has anything to do with it?”

“Not directly,” Castiel assured, “She hates her father . . . I’m sure if there’s any connection it was an accident, and if that’s the case it’s my fault too, because she would only know of Sam through me.”

“It’s—not your fault, Cas,” Sam said, taking long, rattling breaths, “It’s his.  I—the world is on fire,” he groaned, curling in on himself. 

“Hallucinations,” cursed Gabriel, clutching Sam the best he could. 

“You’re all light and glowy.  You too, Cas,” Sam muttered, “Angels.”  Gabriel snorted. 

“Despite the religious connotations of everyone’s names in our family, no, we are not angels.”

“’Course you are.  You’re an archangel.  So’s Michael, Raphael, Lucifer.  I’m the Boy King or something. Holy—holy shit, having a vision, but—I’m awake?” he grumbled. 

“Vision?”

“Part of my normal powers, dreams and nightmares sometimes that come true but . . . Okay, okay, I see the Devil, holy crap, and he’s—he’s with a bunch of others in a basement, and—he’s got a vessel, one of the civilians that Azazel chooses, and the General’s got a vessel, he’s talking with the Host I think, and his vessel is the Righteous Man, and Project Apocalypse, they want to use the Horsemen to, to destroy one another.” 

“Vessels?” Gabriel’s mouth tightened into a line. 

“And _holy shit_ , Lucifer . . . now he’s . . . is . . . oh shit,” Sam squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Sam?” asked Castiel, concerned.

“I think the demon blood does a combination of amplify my powers and put me on a trip,” Sam decided, “Because as far as I’m concerned, Lucifer is literally sitting next to me and is going through the DSM to try and figure out what mental disorders he or I have.  Shit.  Shit.”

“Well, you’ve got Luci’s personality down in your head, Sammy,” Gabriel chuckled nervously, “You know I’m here, right?”

“Yeah, Gabe, yeah, it’s just . . . God, I . . . " Sam gasped as if he wasn’t getting enough air, and Gabriel felt helpless. 

“Sshh, Sam, it’s okay, you’re safe, we’ll take care of this,” he murmured.  Dean’s face was set like stone. 

“We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

 

Castiel was angry at work. 

“Trouble in paradise, Clarence?” Meg asked with a smirk.  

“Perhaps because of you,” he grumbled, “And nothing is wrong with Dean or I.  But I have to talk to you after work.”

“Ooh, getting feisty,” she teased, but Castiel did not find it endearing today. 

Not when she might have led to Sam’s current condition of locking himself up in the Bunker and riding out his withdrawal.  He just needed to know if it was intentional. 

So after he finished editing a story about the dwindling fan base of the _Ghostfacers_ show, he all but dragged Meg into his cubicle, which was distant from most of the occupied ones. 

“Okay, what’s up?” she asked. 

“I need to know if you were involved with something that happened to Sam, Dean’s brother,” Castiel began. 

“Hm?” she frowned. 

“He was in the hospital when someone broke in, posed as a doctor, and got him high on demon blood, Meg.  He says the doctor’s name was Azazel, and that his eyes turned yellow.”

Meg squeaked in surprise. 

“He—no, he . . . I’m sorry, I really am, but this isn’t my fault.  It’s his. Sure, I said things, names.  My coworker’s friends are cool, that sort of thing.  I didn’t want anything bad to happen, Castiel.”

“But you knew he was Yellow Eyes?”

“No, no clue—I mean, I know he wasn’t the most ethical of people, I knew that, but Yellow Eyes?” she shook her head, running a hand through her hair. 

“I should’ve guessed, though . . . I really am sorry, Castiel.”  She didn’t often use his given name.  He softened. 

“Right.  Well.  Let’s hope Team Free Will or the Host gets him before he does that to anyone else.”

“Exactly.”

* * *

 

The two women that stormed the streets with guns ablaze were quickly surrounded. 

“That was _not_ your best plan,” advised the armor-clad member of the Host before them. 

“Oh?  And if our plan was to cause chaos? To _break the final seal?_ ” asked the elder. 

“Then at least at chaos, you’ve succeeded.  But it’s time to go, now.”

“Oh,” chuckled the brunette, “We weren’t looking for feather brains from the Host.  We’re after a civilian in particular.  Hoping we can find out if the special dose of demon blood in him got him going,” she said, twirling a knife on a hook around her finger. 

“Well, what you see is what you get. Drop the guns.”

“I don’t think so,” laughed the younger girl, childlike, “Should we end him, Sis?”

“Sisters from hell.  Which one’s Anna, and which one’s Elsa?” quipped Ark. 

“Let it go, dickhead,” the brunette replied, suddenly blasting ice across the space between them.  Ark took flight. 

“Could use some _backup_ over here,” he muttered into his communicator as the girls tag-teamed him—one with ice, the other with prickling tendrils of black, smoky energy. 

“Hey, aren’t you the one that dropped the demon deal a while back?” he realized who the ice queen was, “Ruby, right?  Enoch reported that was your name.”

“Damn,” she shrugged.  “Looks like we’ll have to kill him, Lils.”

“Right,” the younger replied, readying her hands for another blast. 

They barreled through the city of Garrison, left and right through the streets.  Police sirens wailed.  A flutter of wings—two new arrivals. 

“Y’know, I asked for backup, not Kidz Bob rejects,” he quipped as the two youngest members of the Host, the ones that didn’t know any of their secret identities (besides those who left, of course.  Anna wanted to go civilian.) 

"We were in the area," said Ember flatly, "It's not as if we'd have called you, if the situation were reversed."  Balthazar rolled his eyes.  

“Right.  Alfie.  Ember.  Ember, focus on the ice attacks, and Samandriel, cover her.  I’ll take care of Lite Brite.” 

“Got it, Ark.”  Cute kids, he mused as he took his staff out to fight. 

“Ooh, playing with toys now?” asked Lilith, the younger of the two. "This should be lots of fun.  I like to play."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so Amriel=Ember, and Alfie=Samandriel. I figured I'd pop them in there with a brief intro here, since they don't play major roles but are still a part of the story. The Sam high isn't written awkwardly is it? I feel like it is. I don't know, maybe I read it over too many times. We'll see I suppose.   
> Leave a comment below if you like! Or even if you don't--feedback makes me better and encourages me to write more!


	9. The Vessels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight ends, Meg gets a hefty assignment, and we have Charlie help us with a little exposition on the vessel problem.

Sam had been recovering, his high going down, but still he had odd fits of anger.  He was able to control himself, though, so he didn’t think much of it when he assured them that he was fine. 

So when he crossed the street and saw Ark from the Host go down into the street, the hot streak of indignant anger wasn’t a surprise.  _The damn demon blood, that’s all_ , he assured himself. 

“Oh, _there_ you are,” giggled an unfortunately familiar voice. 

“Shut up and leave me alone,” he muttered, backing away.  _Civilian.  Civilian._   He watched, though, as the fight went on.  And Ruby goaded him. 

“Wanna know how many people Azazel killed, just like your mom, with _my sister’s_ help, Sam?” asked the other one.  She knew his name.  She knew Azazel.  The younger sister—she’d been a part of it. 

_The fire.  Red_.  _Rage.  Heart pumping harder._

Sam heard a triumphant shriek and passed out. 

* * *

 

“Dammit, Sammy, I knew we should have kept you home,” Dean muttered, “What were you thinking?”  Another voice interrupted, one unheard by anyone else but Sam. 

“Right, Sammy.   Do you know what happened?” chuckled the mingled, echoey voices of Azazel and the Devil.  He saw the Devil, legs crossed, shit-eating grin across from him. 

“You used powers under the influence of blood, Sambo,” the hallucination—it had to be, or a dream—said.  “Azazel gave you a nice, large dose.  And you know what you did, Sam?  Where Lilith is right now?”  A sense of dread washed over him. 

“Six feet under.”

Sam jolted up in his bed, sweating.  “I—I—“

“Whoa, easy, Sammy.  We didn’t bring you to the hospital—not enough security there.  I think you still need to detox.”  Castiel looked at him with sad eyes, and Gabriel looked pained. 

“What happened?” he demanded. 

“Sam, you—must have blacked out during withdrawal,” Castiel explained, “Because one minute you were watching the fight, and the next Lilith was dead on the ground.  The coroners said it looked like her heart had been squeezed by a fist until it stopped beating.”

Sam sucked in a breath. 

“So I killed her.”

“Under the influence of a highly potent drug.  And under duress and stress, it’s hardly your fault,” Gabriel said quickly, worried brows coming together.  “And . . .” he stopped himself. 

“Either you stopped or you started Project Apocalypse, Sam.  If you’re the Boy King.  If you’re Lucifer’s vessel.  Then we’re in trouble.”

“I—that’s the codename for Lucifer’s vessel?  So _I started the apocalypse_?” he asked. 

“Sam, it’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll deal with it I swear.  First you have to get detoxed.  The vessels are supposed to be civilians, right, Gabe?” asked Dean.  Gabriel frowned. 

“They’re supposed to be.  But you’re the Righteous Man, if I’m right, which makes you Michael’s vessel.  We’re all in deep shit now, guys, but we’ll pull through somehow.  We have to.”

* * *

 

“I want a two-page spread on Team Free Will, Meg,” Naomi quipped, “Half a page on each member.  Pretend it’s celebrity gossip.  For some reason, they’re popular in _that_ way.”

“Yeah,” Meg nodded, sighing.  She asked Metatron if he had any good shots of the members. 

“No, not really.  Of course, the idea of dealing with supers in general makes my stomach turn.”

“Why would that be?” she asked. 

“Most of them could crush me and pretty much this entire floor like a handful of bugs, for one.”  She snorted. 

“ _I_ could squash you, Met.  You’re soft,” she chuckled, leaving the disgruntled reporter behind to see if anyone had taken any good pictures. 

* * *

 

“So what exactly does this vessel thing mean?” Charlie asked, having been driven to the Bunker to update her files and get more information.  Of course, she had her secret identity, too—everyone was masked.  She was Queen of Moondor according to everyone she worked with.  She figured that, with rumors of the Apocalypse, she'd have to find more information.  Enoch shook his head. 

“I’ve heard very little about it.  Only that two civilians are chosen.  The Righteous Man, Michael’s Vessel, and the Boy King, Lucifer’s vessel.”

“That’s right,” sighed Trickster, rubbing his temples, “But there’s more.”

“Hm?” the Queen asked. 

“Before I was Trickster, I was Loki.  Most people know that.  But what most people—actually, everyone except the people in this room that I’ve told—is that I was Herald before that.”

“One of the First Four of the Host?” Queen asked, impressed. 

“Yeah, runt of the litter’s probably more accurate,” he shrugged, “Regardless, I know a bit more.  The Vessels are conduits of power.  They allow for the Devil and the General to access their Grace.  It’s the special power that all of the Host possesses.”

“Why’s that?” asked the Queen.  Trickster sighed. 

“This doesn’t leave the Bunker, understood?”

“Understood.”

“The Host, all of it?  We’re brothers and sisters.  Light is our father.  His Grace, his power, originally, was reality-altering.  Literally.  Each of us in the Host has that ability, some more than others.  But General and Devil—Devil used to be Morningstar, believe it or not—they had incredible amounts.  Me and Healer too.  We’re classed as Archangels, not just because we’re the oldest and have six wings, but because we’re more powerful.  With General and Morningstar . . . they had to suppress their abilities because they were too destructive.  It burned away at their skin, wore their bodies out.  So they pick people without powers to split their Grace with—except they still have full control of the powers.”

“What about you and Healer? And the others?” asked the Queen. 

“Healer and I only have the wearing our bodies out issue if we actively use our Grace powers too much, and we can heal ourselves after we calm down.  Not a fun situation, but not irreversible.  The others don’t have that problem because they have less of it to work with—Enoch, that’s your energy powers at work.  A very raw form of Grace.”

“There’s a problem, though,” Hunter interrupted, “The vessels they chose weren’t civs.  They were secret identities.”

“ _Great_.  So what does that mean?” Queen questioned. 

“I’m not sure,” frowned Trickster, “Except that it may make things difficult for them or for us.”

“Is them the Host or Hell?”

“Both, at this rate,” sighed Enoch, “Anything Apocalypse related, we’re against, I believe?”

“Right.  Reviving the Horsemen?  Worst idea ever,” agreed Queen.

“Later, your Highness,” smirked Dean knowingly—he was the only one who knew it was Charlie as of yet.  She tried to keep her identity secret because of the vast information she had access to.  He didn't blame her.  Someday, he figured, they could all tell the people they trusted and cared about.  Maybe after the Apocalypse was averted . . .

“Later, bitches!”


	10. Making Horsemen Appear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balthazar standing up to Michael, Meg getting her assignment under way, and some not-quite-demonic dealings happening.

The General turned to Balthazar.

“You’re not serious?”

“I am.  I’m leaving, and taking the kids with me.  I don’t want the world to burn, Michael.  And don’t you correct me anymore—it’s pointless.  We’re a family, a big, messed-up, overpowered family, and you would let a spat between you and Luc end in blatant destruction.  I can’t be a part of that.  I won’t let you trick them into it, either.”

“So what’ll you do?  Join Enoch’s little rebellion, Ark?  Or perhaps you’d like to follow Uriel after all.”

“You’re such a twat,” Balthazar grumbled, before grabbing Ambriel and Samandriel’s wrists and pulling them out the door. 

“You’re dead, Ark!  Anyone who doesn’t take my side is!” Michael roared.  Balthazar shook his head before turning one more time. 

“You’d treat me like him, after all I’ve done for you?  Come on Michael.”

“It is the plan of the Light.”

“I don’t remember him saying anything about killing off family members and destroying everything that gets in your way.  I heard, ‘Protect the innocents.  Take care of our home.’  Well, I’ll do your job for you, since you clearly aren’t up to it anymore.”

* * *

Castiel told Meg she didn’t have any shots of Team Free Will, but he’d see what he could do.  His younger siblings—Ambriel and Samandriel—both entered. 

“What are you two doing here?”

“Balth brought us.  He told us about the . . . well, some things, but wants to talk to you,” shrugged Ambriel.  Castiel frowned. 

“I’ll talk to him.  Why aren’t you at home?”

“Michael . . . isn’t himself,” Samandriel said quietly, “And we’d like to be able to live in peace while things are the way they are.”

“Hopefully they won’t be,” Castiel assured before turning to his blonde brother, who was obnoxiously waving a camera.

“Right, so first of all, I’m the True Voice’s new photographer,” Balthazar grinned lazily, “And I’m told we need shots of Team Free Will.  Also, I need to talk to you about Michael. Samandriel, Ambriel, head back to my apartment, okay?”

“Got it.  Call us when you’re done.”

“Okay, what’s going on, Balthazar?” Castiel hissed, recalling he wasn’t supposed to know about the Host but not really caring, “What’s wrong with Michael?”

“Not here,” Balthazar muttered, “Too many people.  Your apartment?”

“Sure.  Let’s go.”  And Castiel led Balthazar out. 

They arrived at Castiel and Dean’s apartment a few minutes later, and passed Dean on the way to Castiel’s room. 

“Dean, this is my brother Balthazar, we’ve got a family talk, be out in a few,” Castiel said quickly as they trudged past. 

“Okay, Cas.  I’ll make a third helping of dinner if he wants it.”

“Sure, why not,” Balthazar shrugged before closing the door behind him. 

“All right Cassie.  So.  You may or may not believe this, but the Host is our family.”  Castiel snorted. 

“My boyfriend out there and I figured that one, Balth.”  The blonde spluttered. 

“You what?”

“He pointed out that there are eleven of us.  So.  Which one are you?”

“Ark.  And I assume you’re Enoch?”

“Yes.  So what else is going on?”

“Michael has begun searching out his vessel and the horsemen.  He believes he can convince War and Pestilence, and maybe Death, to side with him.  Famine is too close to the old Sins, which Lucifer will monopolize.”

“He’s not getting his vessel, and neither is Lucifer.  We’re going to stop Project Apocalypse cold.  Do you know who has each of the horsemen?”

“Death has more or less retired, you know that—he completely gave up at the first sign of loss when Light was after him. He’s gone into hiding.  War is locked up in a high-security government prison.  Roman Corps has Pestilence.  And Famine has been locked up and sedated by the government too.”

“Right.  I don’t doubt Roman would let Pestilence go for the right amount of money.  And Lucifer won’t mind breaking into prisons.  As for Death . . . I doubt he really wants anything to do with it.”

“You’re probably right there, but Lucifer could bribe him or corner him into it.”

“True enough.”

“Man, it’d be nice to have an archangel’s opinion, you know?” Balthazar laughed, “They’re the ones that know about the Project anyway.”

“Good thing I have one archangel up my sleeve,” Balthazar rolled his eyes, then blinked. 

“Are you serious?  You found Gabriel?”

“Of course I did.  You think Raphael would ever leave Michael’s side?”

“No, it’s just—how is he?”

“Relatively stressed, as his boyfriend is likely the Boy King,” Castiel muttered.  Balthazar’s eyes widened. 

“What?!”

“And mine is most definitely the Righteous Man.  You could say we’re all a little worried.”

“Well then . . .” Balthazar sighed emphatically.  Castiel looked at him, amused. 

“What?”

“I guess this means I’m officially . . . on your Team . . . you bastards,” he grinned a little. 

“Welcome to Team Free Will, Balthazar.  I’ll gather the others and we can meet up at the Bunker.  Would you like to bring Ambriel and Samandriel?”

* * *

Luckily, no one seemed to have an issue with the three-ex-Host members joining up. 

“There’s plenty of room here,” shrugged Legacy, “And we can work out logistics later.  Maybe a meeting on Friday or something.”  Ember and Alfie were talking with Enoch, catching up on possible missions for the month. 

“Sounds good to me,” shrugged Trickster, whose easy grin had dropped into something more solemn.

“It’s good to see you again, Ark,” he said quietly. 

“You too, Herald,” the armored man half-whispered back. 

* * *

Meg was stressed at lunch, tapping her foot against the leg of the table they shared.  Castiel asked her what was wrong. 

“I need a two-page spread on the four main members of Team Free Will,” she grumbled, “Naomi wants it full out, but I don’t have enough information to do that.  I’d need an interview.   And now with Dad being AWOL—good riddance—I don’t have enough to cover next month’s rent unless I can get this article to be really-well-read, pronto.”

“I can help,” Balthazar offered, “I was just going to see if I could get some good shots of the team.  Maybe they’ll be able to squeeze in an interview.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Meg shrugged, “How are you going to manage getting them still enough for a shot?”

“I have friends in places high and low,” Balthazar grinned, “Mostly high.  Don’t worry, nothing _too_ dangerous.  If I’m lucky we might get an interview, even.”  Meg snorted. 

“I doubt you have _that_ great of connections.  You're not the king of the world,” she teased good-naturedly. 

“I hated that movie,” he grumbled. 

* * *

The prison cell unlocked.  Dogs were barking. 

“Hm.  Crowley, I take it?”

“Devil’s orders.  If I had my way we’d just be doing deals, none of this Apocalypse shit,” the man in a suit muttered. 

“Well, you don’t have your way.  Take me to the Devil.”  Crowley felt peculiarly hungry, but simply ignored it and reminded himself to grab a meal after reporting in. 

* * *

Dean stretched, setting down the tools. 

“Looks good as new,” he said, glancing over to Benny, who’d been repairing a motorcycle at the station across from him. 

“Damn right it does, brother,” he laughed, wiping the sweat from his brow.  “How’s your boy doing, Dean?”

“He’s . . . doing well.  We haven’t been on another date in a while.  With the fire and everything, y’know, things got hectic,” Dean shrugged it off.

“Take care of him, cher.  He’s a good man to have made you so happy when you started.” 

“Yeah, I will,” Dean sighed.  _I just hope I live long enough to stay that way._

* * *

Michael stood in the modern lobby with a distinctive frown. 

“How much to take him off of your hands?”  The man in the suit before him smirked petulantly. 

“Well, I can’t let him go just like that.  You’d have to take his research, his lab equipment, everything that he keeps himself busy with.  That’s a lot of delicate things to move.”

“How much?” 

“For most people, nothing could let me part with one of my best R&D men.  But for you, General, I’m willing to make a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly have the next chapter done as well. I'm debating how I'll go about the Horsemen's powers, but I've got a general idea, and also coming up with a way for the boys to find Death. If we're lucky, you'll get two chapters today! I'm not lucky, so fingers crossed. I didn't want to give Roman powers, so he's just a billionaire sleazeball in this universe. Till next time!


	11. Interviews and News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys help Meg with her assignment, and Dean gets to hear the results at work.

“We don’t have time for an interview, Cas,” Dean pointed out. 

“I’m pretty sure we do.  With Pestilence and Famine gone, that leaves War and Death—and even if we convince Death not to start anything, that’s still one out of four, and we haven’t figured out anything else, yet.  Don’t want the public panicking over their impending doom anyway,” Sam reasoned. 

“Meh, as long as Balth gets my good side,” Gabriel waggled his eyebrows. 

“And Meg will do a thorough job.  And I’m the editor, so I can omit mistakes.”

No one argued, sighing.

“Besides, he’s a member now.  He is incapable of putting us in a bad light for his own sake,” Castiel continued. 

“Heh, right,” Dean grinned, pecking his boyfriend on the cheek. 

“Let’s go, then.  Meg and Balth will be on the roof of Balthazar’s apartment.  Can’t leave a friend hanging,” Gabriel snapped, and they landed on the roof. 

“So someone assigned you to us?  Meh, things are slow tonight.  Might as well.”  Meg’s eyebrows shot upwards. 

“Um, what?”

“A friend of a friend told us,” shrugged Hunter.  “So, whaddaya want to know?”

“We’ll rotate.  I’ll ask questions while Balthazar takes pictures.”

“I’d say age before beauty, but that would mean leaving behind my delectable Legs here,” the Trickster sighed, wrapping an arm around Legacy.  Meg’s eyes widened. 

“Are you two together?”

“Them too,” Legacy pointed, not wanting the attention solely on him, unlike his boyfriend. 

“ _Damn_.  It’s like I told my best friend . . . all the cute ones are gay or taken.  And you’re all both.  So.  Pictures with Trix and Legacy here first, and I’ll talk to Feathers and Hunter.”  Enoch refrained from chuckling—even now, she called him names. 

“So.  Team Free Will.  How’d it happen?”

“Pretty much at your suggestion, Miss Masters,” Enoch replied, “You asked when we’d team up.  Legacy offered an available hideout for us.  We sort of fell together, in that way.”

“Yeah, you can take credit for coming up with it.  We’re making alliances and expanding in a way—us four are still technically the team, but everyone who wants to take a stand with us is more than welcome to.”

“A stand?”

“Hmm . . . Trickster, do you think we should share with the public, or keep confidential?”

“What’re you asking me for?”

“Eh, go ahead,” shrugged Hunter, “We’re trying to stop Project Apocalypse.  The Devil and the General are jonesing to duke it out.”

“And they are willing to reestablish the Horsemen to do it,” Enoch continued.  Meg nodded. 

“I’d heard something about Yellow Eyes making an attack.”

“That’s right.  We weren’t able to stop him.  But hopefully a little background knowledge on our part will be able to help. We’re somewhat aware of the general idea of the Apocalypse they’ve got—we just have to sort out the details and, y’know, actually stop it.”

“You think you can stop Hell?  Or the Host?”

“We’re trying our best.  The important part is that we’re saving people, hunting things that hurt others.  If that’s Hell—which it is—we’ll put a stop to it.  If it’s the Host—which, in the case of the Apocalypse, it is—then we’ll fight our damndest,” Hunter nodded. 

“But you were once a member of the Host, Enoch.”

“I believed I was in the right with them, but the General . . . with his current animosity towards the Devil, he’s lost the purpose the Host was meant for—to protect the innocent.  I believe that was our mission from the start, and that they have strayed.  If we can end the violence before it truly begins, then maybe I can reconcile with them.”

“And do you guys mind me adding the little tidbit you shared earlier about your relationship status?”

“Go ahead,” Hunter shrugged.  “Just keep to the truth.”

“Will do.  All right, Balth, you done?”

“Yup!  Come on, boyos, we don’t have all night,” Balthazar grinned. 

“So, Trickster, are the rumors true that you were once Loki?”

“That was one of my names, yeah.  I’ve got two more on the list.”

“And Legacy, how do you feel being in a relationship with your coworker, especially in this line of work?”  Legacy snorted. 

“It’s not as if I get paid for this.  I’m a student.  If anything, with all of us, it’s like a shared, really intense interest we have in keeping others safe.  Our day jobs don’t intersect all that much, so he’s no coworker.”

“Still, is there any tension without knowing everyone’s identity?”

“Except for the new allies,” Trickster intervened, “We all know each other’s identities.  We trust one another enough for that.”

“Hunter mentioned some background knowledge to Project Apocalypse earlier.  Care to elaborate on how you got that?”

“All me,” Trickster preened, “Y’see, I wasn’t going to go around declaring this, but it’s not like I won’t already be a target—before I was Trickster, I was Loki, one of Asgard Kin.  But before _that_ , I was Herald from the Host.  The in fighting with the Devil—who you also might remember as Morningstar—was frankly not my thing, so I donned a new mask.  And then when I couldn’t take the Kin anymore, I did it again.  So yeah.”

“That’s big info.  Are you willing to be responsible for whatever happens when this gets published?”

“I’m not a responsible person, to be frank.  I’m like Deadpool.  I just protect what matters to me.  The rest can go kindly off a cliff.”

“You say that, but you don’t mean it,” Legacy argued, “You most certainly give a damn about whether the Apocalypse thing happens, and you’re not taking either of their sides.”

“Right.  I’m on the side of the underdogs—the normal people that just push through every day.  Sure, no one’s perfect.  But a lot of people try, and the things that they do when they try, that’s impressive.  The Devil would go and say humanity’s broken, flawed, that he’s here to cleanse it.  The General would just say he’s following the Light’s orders.  Screw that.  I’m doing the right thing here.”

“Wise words.  And Legacy . . . do you happen to have any worries about what’s coming?”

“Only that I might not be strong enough to stop it.  It doesn’t mean I’ll give up.  The Apocalypse?  I’ll do everything in my power to stop it in its tracks.  I’m lucky to have Team Free Will with me . . . we might just pull it off.”

* * *

“Hey Dean, coffee break, or else I’m going to suck your blood instead,” joked Benny.  Dean laughed—no one had to tell him twice.

The group gathered around a table.  Rufus, Bobby, Benny, Dean, and Cole tended to take breaks at the same time and just put up a sign that said “Will be back soon” at the counter. 

“How’s Andrea?” Cole asked.  Benny smiled. 

“She’s doing well.  Finally got a job at a kindergarten.  Completely over the moon about the little ones.”

“That’s wonderful,” Bobby nodded sincerely.  Rufus rolled his eyes—the guy never really smiled—and grunted his agreement. 

“You ever think about having kids, Benny?” Cole asked, wiping his hands on a dishcloth before grabbing a cup. 

“Not really,” shrugged the Cajun, “We’ve talked about it.  She wants to wait, if at all.  I don’t blame her.  I’m not exactly the gentle giant required to care for a kid.”

“You’d make a great dad, Benny,” Dean shook his head, “You’d love the hell out of your kid, and they’d be better for it.”  A smile crossed the man’s face. 

“Thanks, brother.”

“Say, did you guys read the newest True Voice?”

“Boy, you know I don’t read that one,” Rufus said, “I get everything from the Lawrence Weekly.  What’s interesting about Garrison now?”

“They have a whole two-page piece on Team Free Will.  Pictures and everything.  It’s pretty impressive.”  He picked up the paper from the counter where he’d left his things that morning. 

“See?”  He opened to the second page.  Wow.  Even full color.  Balthazar was a good photographer, Dean had to admit to himself. 

“Pretty boys,” Rufus snorted, “What’s the story that has Garrison so riled up about them?”

“Project Apocalypse was activated, and they’re working to stop it,” Benny said, “Hope those guys get it done before it starts affecting normal people.”

“Those boys better not screw us over in the long run,” shrugged Bobby, “Now get back to work, ijits.”


	12. Death's Pizzaria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Devil Plans, Sam hangs out with his friends, and Dean considers sending Death a fruit basket.

The Devil grinned.  Two of the Horsemen were his. 

“War, Famine,” he regarded them with a smile, “I’m glad we are here to work together.  Now.  What do you know of Pestilence and Death?”

“Pestilence was being held by Roman Industries.  I don’t know about Death.  He disappeared,” glared War. 

“ _Was_ being held?”

“Last I heard, the General made an appearance,” said Famine, coughing, “Surely you knew?”

“I didn’t,” frowned the Devil, “Thank you for the information.  I will give you your rings . . . in exchange for your loyalty to me.”

“You already know you have it,” Famine’s lips pulled into a smile.  War just nodded. 

“So now . . . we should look for Death.”

“Indeed.”

* * *

 

“Charlie,” Sam rolled his eyes, “The paper is due _next_ week.”  He’d finally recovered enough from the demon blood incident that he didn’t feel abnormal, so he was back at classes. 

“I know that.  But the extra credit date is tomorrow.”

“And if there are mistakes, then you’ll just probably end up with extra credit on a less-than-perfect paper,” Kevin reminded her. 

“Right,” Charlie rolled her eyes, but it wasn’t the paper she was working on.  She was adding information to her database. 

“I was gonna ask, have you guys heard about the recent Team Free Will stuff?  The Apocalypse?” Garth asked, “It’s giving me a bad feeling. 

“It was in the paper, yeah, I read it.  Hey, who’s your favorite of them?” Kevin asked.  Sam shifted uncomfortably. 

“I like Enoch.  No-nonsense, kinda to the point,” Garth shrugged. 

“Hunter,” Charlie grinned oddly, “He’s like a good-old-fashioned Western sheriff, but in spandex.”

“I like Legacy,” Kevin shrugged, “I don’t know.  Maybe it’s that all his powers come from his mind, and I respect that he’s so _controlled_.”  Sam had to physically hold his own arms to keep from making a strangled noise—a yelp or a laugh, he wasn’t sure.

“Uh, Trickster,” Sam decided, figuring everyone else picked someone different, “He’s laid back, kinda like the Genie in Aladdin.  Keeps people on their toes, has a sense of humor about his job.”

They went out for dinner and drinks.  It was Sam’s night off—Balthazar and Castiel were patrolling—so he was okay to spend some time with them. 

“Don’t give anything to Garth.  He can’t hold his liquor to save his life,” advised Charlie.  Technically she and Garth were old enough to drink legally, but Sam had a fake ID courtesy of his brother, and Kevin wasn’t a fan of alcohol. 

“Trust me, after last time, no thank you,” Garth chuckled. 

There was laughter, joking—teasing that Kevin looked like a high schooler—and Sam froze. 

“Guys.  Get out to the car.  Right now,” he said sharply. 

“What’s going on, Sam?” asked Garth. 

“Right now,” he repeated, glaring across the room. 

“Who’s that?” Kevin asked, eyes following Sam’s.  An older man was hunched over at another table. 

“The guy that burned my house down.”

“Shit, we should call—“

“No, guys, seriously, get out of here,” Sam urged, “I don’t even think he knows who you are, but you need to _leave_.”

“Well, you’re coming,” Charlie said. 

“No, I’m not.  He’s dangerous,” Sam muttered. 

“Duh, he burned your house down.”

“He’s _Yellow Eyes_ ,” Sam said as quietly as he could, so he wouldn’t hopefully draw attention.  Kevin and Garth’s eyes widened, while Charlie’s narrowed. 

“How do you know?”

“Because he threatened me and hooked me on demon blood in the hospital afterwards.  I’m clean now, but the fact that he’s here—“

“Sam,” Charlie said urgently, “Bad time for this.  I’ll make a call.  I can get help.”

“No, the police will only get—“

“I’m not talking about the police,” she replied as calmly as possible, but her patience was wearing thin.  Sam sighed. 

“Fine.  I’ll leave with you guys.  You make that call.  If help doesn’t come within five minutes—“

“Trust me; they’ll be here in two.”  One and a half minutes after Charlie called, Ark, Enoch, and Hunter were all on the scene, and managed to subdue Yellow Eyes, who'd snarled and fought, but ultimately couldn't keep up with three people, even with his firepower.  Hunter nodded at them, and Ark blew a kiss before they left the man to the authorities. 

“That was anticlimactic,” Kevin observed. 

“What’s _going on_?” asked Garth. 

“Fine.  Look.  I’m the Queen of Moondor, the girl that gives Supers missions and has a whole database on them.  Happy?”  Sam stared at her.  Charlie was Queen?  Then she knew Dean was Hunter, and Dean knew she was Queen. Dude.  If people kept this up, Sam was going to start to suspect his professors of being supers, too.

“Oh my god, you know who Hunter _is_ , don’t you?  That’s why he’s your favorite, right?  I’m hurt Charlie, I really am,” Sam said, feeling somehow lighter now that Azazel wasn’t on the loose.  Her brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Why?”

“We were—well, I guess it’s confession time all around, huh?” Sam glanced around, and since no one was in sight, he shrugged. 

“I’m Legacy.”  Kevin smacked him on the shoulder, laughing. 

“Yeah right, and I’m Enoch.”

“No, you’re not,” Sam deadpanned, “He’s my friend, trust me, I know.”

“Prove it,” Garth demanded. 

Sam rolled his eyes. 

“I can’t exactly make things float in public.  Unless you want me to read your minds as proof.”

“Go ahead,” Charlie shrugged, “That seems simple enough.”  Sam peeked into each of their heads and shrugged. 

“Charlie’s thinking about Dorothy and Gilda having a pillow fight,” he said, amused, “Garth took a second, but he thought about his attempt at sock puppetry with Mr. Fizzles.  And Kevin was reciting verses from the Bible—‘Love is patient, love is kind.  It is not pompous’—et cetera.” 

“ _Dude_ ,” Garth gaped.  Sam checked again for witnesses or security cameras, then clenched his fist for effect as he turned on Charlie’s car, unlocked it, and opened the doors all at once for them.  No, he couldn’t make things float, but automatic doors were a thing, right?

“Showoff,” Charlie quipped. 

* * *

 

Dean glanced around.  The pizzeria was the one he’d looked up. "Chicago Platter" was a pretty great place; Dean had ordered from there to cater at the shop before.  He had a hunch that the owner was more than meets the eye.  

The bartender’s name was Cain.  Dean asked if he could talk to the owner—“Business proposal,” he claimed.  And if Dean dressed a little nicer to fit the part, who was going to know? 

“Sure,” Cain shrugged, peering at Dean curiously.  “You’re not from the government?”

“Of course not.  I wouldn’t be able to handle the crazies.”

“To be fair, all of mankind has its lunatics,” Cain replied. 

“Right,” Dean chuckled, “But each has their own brand of it.  I’ll stick with my type of insane.  Now.  Can I talk to him?” 

“Tessa?  Go find your dad.  Some dude wants to talk to him,” Cain called out.  A waitress—a girl looking like she was almost-college-age—nodded and disappeared behind the counter. 

“Take a seat.  He’ll only come out if he feels like it.” 

Dean waited, ordering a pizza and a beer for the hell of it.  The least he could do was give the guy some business for what he was about to ask. 

“Hello, Mr. Winchester,” an older man slid into the booth across from him.  Dean was humbled.  After all, if he had his facts right, this was the Horseman of Death. 

“Hello, sir,” Dean said as respectfully as possible, trying to figure out how he would word this. 

“I am aware that you are the vessel for the General,” the man said, and Dean nearly choked. 

“Okay, no beating around the bush, then,” Dean sighed. 

“I’d find it pointless to watch you flounder for a way to ask me whatever you’re going to.”

“Okay.  I was going to ask for your Ring.”

“And what makes you think I have it, much less will give it to you?”

“You know Project Apocalypse is on the rise.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not going to stand by and let people get hurt.  If I can stop the General and the Devil from doing their showdown, I will.”

“I think you’ll find it hard to make a difference.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I am an old man, Dean Winchester.  I have three daughters, so frankly little surprises me.  I spent most of my early years honing my powers of destruction in order to end the lives of those I deemed unfit to live.  My brothers did the same.  We are gods among men, except that my brothers are enslaved by the fact that their rings are withheld.  I could kill everyone in this restaurant with a single touch.  Do you think you can honestly push me to do something I won’t already do?  Imagine an insect—no, an amoeba, giving you attitude.”

“If I’m an insect, I’ll be a hornet until you do what I want,” Dean grumbled, “Because this isn’t for me, personally.  It’s for everyone.”

“What do you plan on doing with my ring?”

“Keeping it hidden.  They already have the three other Horsemen under their thumbs, because they had _access_ to the rings, or were close to them.  If they don’t have yours, they don’t have a hold on you.”

“That’s not necessarily true.”

“Fine, then they won’t have a _reason_ to come after you.”

“And when they find it on you?  You, who broke under Hell?”

“They’ll die trying to get it from me,” Dean promised gravely, “Because I broke under circumstances that I won’t allow anymore.”

“How’s that?”

“Because I’m a Super, and Hell be damned if I won’t fight them this time around.  Besides, they won’t know where to look.  You gave your ring to a business man named Smith as collateral for a possible deal, and they can’t possibly track that to where I’m putting it.”

“I like that plan,” the man smiled slightly, before pulling off his ring. 

“Cain.  Bring me your blade.  And mine.”  The bartender nodded curtly and returned with a cane and something wrapped in cloth. 

“These weapons are known as the First Blade and my Scythe.  I’ll keep one to defend my daughters with should the need arise.  The other, I entrust to you to protect my power with. And I expect the ring back when things are over and done with.  Also, if you wear my ring . . . you’ll have its power.  So you may want to allow me to attach it to whatever weapon you choose, so it’ll do its job.”

“Eh . . . right.  I’ll go with this,” Dean gestured to the First Blade, partially unwrapped so he could see it.  The dagger was intimidating. 

“Right.”  Death—Dean didn’t know his other name, now that he thought about it—attached the ring to the blade at the handle. 

“It will kill whatever you decide to kill with it, no exceptions,” Death explained. 

“Understood.  So you’re in hiding because you want to be with your daughters?” Dean guessed. 

“Correct.  Billie and April are in college now; Tessa’s working here until she goes.  But I’m not allowing Lucifer or Michael to get a hold on them.”

“I won’t let you down, sir.”

“Good.  Because you can’t run from Death, and you certainly can’t kill him.  Once you leave, please don’t return until all of this is solved.  Then I may actually have a business proposal for you.”  Dean chuckled, they finished their pizza, and he left. 

_How should I return the ring?  Maybe with a fruit basket.  Heh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I decided on mature because while it won't go to outright smut, the subject will be discussed as will violent situations similar to canon that I don't trust my writing not to get too descriptive about. I may lower the rating to Teen if I feel like it's tame enough by the end. Also, the three female Reapers as Death's daughters? I thought it would be cute. Gives his character a reason to be out of the Apocalypse like he wants to be.  
> This story, in case you haven't read other notes, is not beta read. All of it is my stuff.  
> So leave a comment, positive, negative, critiques, random shoutouts or pointing out stuff you liked or didn't like. It makes me a better writer when you give me feedback!


	13. The Devil's Offering, the Reaper's Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer confronts Sam, Zachariah confronts a Reaper, and Michael makes a plan.

Sam was alone when the Devil approached him.  In fact, there was no one to be seen down the street for an entire block. 

The Devil wasn’t in his usual white-suit-wings-and-mask garb—he was dressed as a normal guy.  But Sam recognized him.  He tensed as he went to pass by the man that wanted to use him. 

“Hey,” called the voice softly, “Are you Sam Winchester?”  Damn. 

“Who’s asking?”

“My name’s Nick,” the Devil lied kindly, “I have a few questions for you.”

“Like?”

“Do you know about Project Apocalypse from the news and stuff?  I don’t see what the big issue is.”

“The Devil and the General wanting to showdown with dangerous, unpredictable powers that could destroy half the world?  I find that an issue,” Sam replied. 

“Hey, if it weren’t for the General wanting to take him down, the Devil would’ve just been running crime as usual.”

“Oh, so that’s a good thing?”

“Lesser of two evils.”

“The General didn’t break the first Seal,” Sam replied, glaring, “He’s not the one that got the ball rolling.  Don’t think I don’t know that, or what my part is in this.  You and I both know it’s a joke to pretend otherwise.”

“You know you’re the vessel to the Devil?”

“I know that’s what they call me.  The Boy King, right?  And my brother’s the Righteous Man.  Fitting—two brothers for two brothers, huh?  Except we’re not following your petty plan.  I’m not letting you get ahold of anyone I care about.  And I’m not letting you make the world burn.”

“Me?”  ‘Nick’ asked, the face of shocked innocence, hand flying to his chest. 

“You. _Lucifer_.  Who else could clear this entire block just to talk to me?  I’m not giving in.  I’ll stop you however I need to.”

“So you’ll drink demon blood?” the man guessed, mouth and face transforming into a sinister grin, “Because that’s the only thing that gave you power enough to kill Lilith and break the final seal.  That’s how you did it—Azazel’s demon blood awakened what powers you could have been born with.  It’s the nectar that makes you a god among men.”  Sam snorted. 

“I’m no god, and neither are you.  Our abilities don’t change that.”

“Or lack thereof?”  Sam really wanted to punch him, he really did, but making a scene was not ideal at this point.  Plus, as far as Lucifer knew, he was a civilian. 

“Or lack thereof.  Y’know, a lot of Supers have that mentality.  Some might even say us normal people are better than you.”  After all, Sam highly respected civilians.  They were the ones that supported him after his parents’ death—Garth had demanded hugs in order to make Sam feel better.  That was always Garth’s solution, but no less endearing.  And Kevin had taken extensive notes for him.  And his parents, even—two people he would give up all his power just to have back in his life. 

Yeah, normal people were better than him, the boy with the demon blood. 

“Humanity is full of broken, flawed abortions of existence,” sneered Lucifer. 

“But some of them try,” interrupted a voice behind Sam.  Gabriel.  “Luci, looks like you’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do,” he waggled a finger and had a huge grin, but his eyes were burning with a fierce gold. 

“Gabriel?  How—“

“Mike isn’t in charge of the first seal, Luc.  Looks like you kickstarted Project Apocalypse, and Mikey took the bait.  You hated that Dad left so you decided to smash up all his toys—the city that he loves.  Simmer down on the tantrum, bro.”

“Gabe,” Sam warned as Lucifer’s rage seemed to become tangible, “Don’t do anything we’ll all regret.  Let’s just . . . let’s just leave, okay?”

“Right,” Gabriel sighed, glaring at Lucifer, “You won’t get him to say yes.  He’s a hell of a lot stronger than that.”

“Right.  And Michael’s vessel broke, and he’s strong enough to say no too,” Lucifer deadpanned, “Why do I get the feeling that’s just not the case?”

“Because you’re a dick.  You’re my brother, and I love you, but you are one big bag of dicks.”  The Devil scowled, and Gabriel snapped Sam and himself to the bunker. 

“Christ,” Sam sighed, relieved. 

“Not quite,” Gabriel chuckled. 

* * *

 

Billie glared at the man standing before her.  The timer glowing above his head that only she could see spoke volumes— _ten minutes, thirty seconds_. 

“So I figure, if I take you in, your daddy will have to listen to the General’s offer,” the overweight man shrugged, “He’s had to grab some new recruits with all the deserters.  I’m just a loyal servant of the Host.  You think you can run?” 

_Nine minutes, forty-six seconds_. 

“I think you’ve made a mistake by coming after me.  You know who my dad is.  You think he’s even close to letting you take him down?  My sisters and I could take down the Host as it is ourselves.”

“Your sisters?  What are you, the Cheetah Girls?” snorted the man. 

“No.  Reapers.”  Zachariah’s eyes narrowed as he advanced.  Billie backed up. 

_Six minutes, twenty-one seconds._

“Reapers.  That’s cute,” he scoffed.  Billie turned the knife in her hand behind her back. 

“How’d you find me anyway?  Most of us are in our dorms by now.  This could look messy to authorities if they find a middle-aged man stalking a college girl at night.”  That got him.  He paused, adjusting his suitjacket.  “And that wouldn’t look good for you, Host or no Host.”

“My friend specializes in tracking.  And no one will find out about this . . .I can control dreams, put suggestions in their heads.”

“Now _that_ is cute, Sandman,” she grinned wryly. 

_Four minutes, five seconds._

“What?  And just what do you expect?  Not as impressive as killing with a touch, but still.”

“Funny you should mention that.  Since he’s Death, and we’re Reapers.  Grim, Shinigami, and Thanatos.” Billie circled to her left as the man considered her. 

_Two minutes, sixteen seconds._

“So you all have death-related powers, then?”

“Thanatos, my older sister, can see ghosts,” she answered casually, turning her knife again. It’s not like it mattered if she told him.  “And can use ghostlike abilities on occasion.  My younger sister, Shinigami, can tell anyone how they might die.  It’s not set in stone, but she has the possibilities as soon as she meets them.” 

“And you?” 

_Ten Seconds_.

Billie smiled.

* * *

The Devil seemed to have found a loophole in the whole “I can’t fight my brother without using my Grace” thing.  Either that, or he just didn’t give a damn anymore, because Hell was roaming the streets, and it took a lot of time out on everyone’s parts. 

“Charlie . . . can you take my notes?  I’m going to have to be out and about until I get some things sorted,” Sam sighed as he fumbled with his backpack. 

“Go ahead, Sam.  I’ll hold down the fort and carry a .22 in my Legolas laptop case if some goons decide a campus full of broke college students is the perfect place to shoot.” 

“. . . okay?”

“Ah, to be prepared.  Don’t get your panties in a twist.  That’s Gabe’s job,” she teased. 

“Ugh, shut up,” he groaned. 

* * *

Team Free Will was growing. 

Now it consisted of Hunter, Legacy, Enoch, Trickster, Ark, Alfie, Ember, Oracle (whose real name was Hannah.  Michael seethed at the thought of losing her to them.  It wasn’t as bad as someone falling to Hell, but it was close.), and The Queen officially became their hacker extraordinaire. 

Michael glared across the skyline. 

“Father.  What should I do?” he wondered aloud.  No one answered. 

A minute or so later, he got a call from Zachariah, but the man’s voice was not the one he heard.  A woman was cursing at him. 

“You son of a bitch.  You sent some second-rate snob after me?  After one of the Reapers?  My daddy isn’t gonna be a part of this, asshole.  He gave up his ring.  You’ll be happy to know that Zachariah is finished.  And so will anyone else you send for my sisters and I.”

“So you killed him?” Michael was not surprised. 

“Of course.  Sending a balding older man was not your best call, especially when the dude had an ego the size of the county.  And now the Reapers?  We’ve officially got you on our hit list.  You and the Devil both.”

“Hmm.  Well.  That just means I’ll have to find some other way to beat the Devil.  Looks like I’ll have to get my vessel after all.”


	14. Standoff at Stull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer is impatient, so he threatens Sam to say yes. The team plans, and the showdown is upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update! I was totally going to drag this story along for a few more chapters before the whole battle, but then I would have been doing just that, dragging it. I hate fight scenes but am going to do my best to not suck as I write these. Soon enough I'll be able to finish the story, hopefully, and write a few timestamps if anyone is interested.
> 
> In addition--I'm really curious about what you guys think of this story thus far. It was a plot bunny thing I'd wanted to do. 
> 
> Also, if you check the top of the first chapter, I made art in relation to the story (Really, it's just the team, but I wanted to attempt to see if I could draw comic-style and had some success.) Hopefully my descriptions were true to what I made the characters look like?
> 
> Another note at the end.

They were on a case—another demon Deal, a big one—when Dean ran into Crowley. 

“Hello, Hunter,” he greeted, dogs growling at his feet. 

“Oh, hey, douchebag,” Hunter greeted. 

“Now now, Squirrel, that’s not any way to treat someone who’s on _your_ side,” he said. 

“I don’t think so.  Considering you’re not.”

“You think the only people in this game are Hell and the good guys, don’t you?” the red-eyed man’s eyes narrowed. 

“Nope.  There’s the Host, Hell, and the good guys,” Dean replied, “Because as far as I’m concerned, the biggest problem?  It’s the Apocalypse.”

“I feel the same way,” grinned the Crossroads extraordinaire.  He was the best at covert demon blood deals; everyone who’d ever dealt with Hell knew that.

“Lucifer’s control?  His plans?  We’re losing ground on any deals.  People are too concerned about surviving to take a side.  I’m a business man, first and foremost, and Hell’s business?  Is being run into the ground.  So I want to take over, make it easier.  Forget all this petty Apocalypse stuff.”

“I’m not making a deal with you.”

“Then I’ll grab the vessels and make a deal with them.  Like it or not, civilians are involved.”  Hunter smirked. 

“I happen to be pretty close with them.  They know how to defend themselves.  So if you could, y’know, shut your trap, I’ll turn you in without roughing you up first.” 

“Oh, how sweet, I’m blushing,” the con man replied.  But before Hunter could lunge, the man disappeared. 

“Son of a bitch!” Hunter growled. 

* * *

 

Kevin shrugged. 

“I’ve been working with Professor Edlund on a thesis, but he’s kind of . . . I dunno . . . quiet?  He had to go visit his sister last night and said he’ll be out for a few weeks,” he grumbled. 

“That sucks,” Charlie said, “Is she okay?”

“He didn’t say.”  Garth frowned. 

“I hope everything’s all right.”

* * *

 

Lucifer only grinned while War and Famine made their way through the city.  He’d hacked into the broadcasting system for emergency news across Garrison, Crossroads, Lawrence, and Palo Alto. 

“You’ll all be pleased to know that I’m going through with Project Apocalypse with or without the General’s consent.  And using my Grace has become a bit of a struggle . . . so I’d like to call my vessel to meet at Main Street in Lawrence tonight.  I’ll hold off the attacks again.  But you have to show, or I’ll let them all loose.  All my demons, my Knights, the Horsemen.  I’ll even duke it out with the General if he thinks for a minute that he can take me.  Come tonight, Sam.  Or everything burns.”

* * *

“I’m not going to actually let him take me as a vessel,” Sam assured, “But if I go I can buy us time.”

“And if Michael shows?  You could _die_ ,” Gabriel argued. 

“What if you showed up, pretending to be hopped up on demon blood?” Dean suggested, “And used your powers?”

“The point of the demon blood is so Azazel can manipulate you into letting Lucifer use you as a puppet of extra power,” Balthazar mused, “And he’d _think_ you were vulnerable to it.”

“If Michael shows, we can all hold him off,” Castiel affirmed.  “And since neither of you are actually going to allow yourselves to connect to their Grace—“

“How do we make sure of it?” Dean asked. 

“Don’t say yes.  Our powers . . . our Grace is consent-based.  We can’t use a Vessel without consent.”

“We?  I thought you didn’t have a vessel?” Sam frowned. 

“I don’t _use_ one.  Raphael and I are less powerful than Mike and Luc, but we still need vessels.  Ours are just less specific.  No seals, no Apocalypse.  All of us have vessels; mine just doesn’t know it yet and neither do I.  I can use my Grace to smaller extents without him anyway, and the big stuff wouldn’t even help against the two knuckleheads.”

“So even we have vessels?” asked Balthazar, frowning. 

“Yes.  Though you could probably choose anyone as a vessel—so long as you can make the connection and get them to consent.  There is a chance . . . that Sam could hold Lucifer down.  Luc won’t hurt him.”

“So I go in, throw some things around with my mind, we all kick ass, then what?  Lucifer could talk his way out of jail, easy.”

“Not if there’s no one to convince,” Castiel answered, “We could . . . we could put him in the Cage.”  Gabriel winced. 

“That’s pretty heavy stuff, Cas, but you’re not wrong . . . I think we’ll have to.”

“You do realize that we need all four Horsemen to give us their rings to even do that?” asked Ambriel. 

“No.  Just one,” Castiel said grimly. 

“But you’d need all three to even get a crack at Death!” Balthazar argued. 

“Not true,” Dean said, holding up the First Blade, “I’ve got the ring in this knife right here.  We have to open the Cage with Death’s ring and throw Lucifer in.  Any ideas from that?”

“We don’t have a lot of time before he starts attacking again.”

“I’m . . . going to see if I can convince Michael to go with this,” said Samandriel, “I’ll make a call.  I’m the youngest; he might listen.”

“I’m going to call Anna,” Hannah nodded, “It’s now or never.”

“Looks like I’m getting Kali,” shrugged Gabriel, “Since she’s the only one that was remotely interested in helping.  I called all of Asgard, but the rest of them decided it was too big for them to handle.”  Dean looked at his blade thoughtfully. 

“I’m gonna send Death’s daughters a text, see if any are game.”

* * *

Sam stood on the sidewalk—the same block that he’d been on before with the Devil.  Not to mention, a cemetery called Stull and a park on either side of him.  A wide, empty, open space. 

A flutter of wings signified the Devil’s arrival, and he looked worse for wear. 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Sam,” he said, “And without you, my Grace has a limit.”

“Looks like you’re the one with limits, Lucifer,” Sam replied, gesturing to the wounds across the man’s skin, “I’m not letting you hurt anyone anymore.”

“Not letting me?  I believe the point of me asking you here was to make you say yes to being my vessel.  That way, I could use my full powers and take down the General.  He’s been running that bureaucracy of the Host for too long, Sam.”

“And you’ll destroy everyone else to do it.”

“Basically.”

“Why?”

“The world needs a cleanup, Sam,” he sighed, “Humanity, it’s all twisted and delusional fighting.  Over concepts and spaces of land.”

“You don’t consider yourself human, then?”

“And neither are you, when you have your powers.  You and I, Sam, we’re more than human.”

“Clearly not.  Despite everything you say, deep down, you’re human.  I’m human, regardless of my abilities.”

“What, did you scour up some demon blood?” the man inquired. 

In response, Sam flicked his wrist, and the street lamps along the block went out.  The full moon and the stars were the only things that lit up Lucifer’s malevolent grin. 

Suddenly, the whole of Hell was backing him up.  Apparently no one had reported a jail break. 

“I didn’t know you were out,” he said quietly to Ruby, who glared over her smile back. 

“No one does.  But Crowley’s mother does some amazing illusion spells.”  Crowley rolled his eyes. 

“The skank sold me out on too many occasions—I held her up to it.”  Sam readied himself in defense. 

“Perfect.  Now, Azazel, why don’t you chat with Sam while I hold off my brother?”

“Brother?” Sam fake-asked, figuring keeping up the act would be the best. 

“Come on, why do you think you and Dean are the vessels, Sam?” a crooked smile crept up Azazel’s face, “It’s brothers for brothers.  The General, Michael, versus the Devil, Lucifer—Dean versus you.”  Sam’s eyes widened.  _Thank goodness for that theater course last year._

“I’m not fighting my brother.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Azazel replied, and Sam could _feel_ the pressure on his mind from it. If he’d been on the blood, he wouldn’t have been able to hold on for very long, but as it was—

“Oh, so _that’s_ the plan?  Mind-control me into it?  No thanks.  I’m not anyone’s puppet, and if Dean were here—he’d say the same.  So you can go to hell,” he replied.  Azazel’s eyes flashed to yellow as he scowled. 

Azazel grumbled, “You have more control than I thought.  Maybe you need a distraction.”

“Maybe you need a kick in the ass,” replied Hunter, who’d melted through a wall behind him. 

“Oh, great,” Azazel rolled his eyes, “Just what I needed.”  Hunter brandished his Colt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So really, I'm not going to write outright smut for this. I've made that decision because I want my first published thing with it to be strictly that--it'll be easier on my mind for a story not as invested in making good already.   
> In relation to this, do you think so far the mature rating is too harsh? I've been thinking about maybe dropping it to teen, but as I have said, it depends on the final product. 
> 
> Please feel free to comment! I'm always interested in feedback because it makes me a better writer and warms my heart to hear from my readers. Thank you!


	15. Grace and Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle rages, while two familiar faces look on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is mostly fighting, which I suck at usually. Let me know if I've improved, or if it does indeed still suck.
> 
> Also, how 'bout that season 11 finale? I'm not going to mash much of that in there, but I figured since Chuck and Metatron were already characters in the story, I could include them in this chapter.

When the lights went out, a tall figure and the General flew down from the building. 

“The abomination has made his choice,” General observed. 

“And it’s the right one, brother,” Enoch replied, landing in front of them. 

“You would dare have the Devil rise?” asked the other figure.

“No.  Sam Winchester is more than just the boy with the demon blood.  I don’t believe we’ve met?”

"Call me Ezekiel.”

“Oh, _you_ ,” drawled Ark with a flutter of wings, “I remember you.  Gadreel, Lucy’s old drinking buddy in college.  Let’s drop the formalities, since we know who we’re dealing with.”

Michael’s eyes flashed white momentarily. 

“Fine,” he spat, “ _Balthazar_.” 

“Aw, you’re getting all cozy again, Mike?” he taunted, “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again.  This fight isn’t happening.  Dean Winchester isn’t even here for you to use as a vessel.”

“But he can be, and a good man would want the Devil done with,” the General smirked, “And _Ezekiel_ here can summon people and things.”

“Can you _please_ cut the theatrics?” and there was a host (pun intended) of new arrivals standing between Lucifer and his demons and Michael and the Host.  Three Reapers in black hoods, Kali standing imposingly, Ember, Alfie, and even Willow (Anna had, in the end, taken their side) had appeared.  They were backing Hunter, who’d already fired a few shots, and Sam, who was using manholes Captain America style.  

In the center of it all was Trickster with a shit-eating grin on his face.  Except he looked a little different.  The mustache was gone, as was the cape that was part of his costume for so long, and his mask was shaped differently now—like it had been as Loki. 

And six golden wings stretched from his back. 

“Herald?!” Ezekiel gasped, and Trickster chuckled. 

“Right, so I guess I was a bit hypocritical with that line, in hindsight.  And since we’re all on a first name basis, douchebag, it’s Gabriel.” 

“You’re making a mistake, brother,” Lucifer called out, glaring, “Sam has made his decision.”

“Yes he has,” grinned Gabe, “And so have the rest of us.  I’m really disappointed in both of you.  Really bigheaded, aren’t you?  Though I can’t talk.  Has Raphael picked his vessel yet?  He might break the pattern.”

“What pattern?” glared Michael. 

“Well, Asgard picked up a new schmuck to be Loki.  And now he’s my vessel.  Fun times, he really liked the idea.  Three out of four have overpowered vessels.  And all.”

“My vessel hasn’t touched demon blood,” glared Michael.  Gabriel rolled his eyes. 

“I didn’t say he did.  Far from it.  Neither has Luc’s vessel.”

“But—“ Gabriel snapped before Michael could finish the thought, and the ground crunched underneath Michael’s gathered forces, making them lose their balance. 

Then it was on. 

Hunter had successfully taken down Azazel, and he was on a roll, taking down demons left and right with Sam acting in complete synchronicity with him. 

“Where’s Legacy?  He has to be close behind,” snarled Ezekiel to Michael. 

“I don’t know,” Michael swung his—currently an aluminum bat—against Kali, who swept it away with her bare hands, sneering. 

Ruby was relentless, but she didn’t really stand a chance.  It was such a free-for-all thing—everyone was against everyone not explicitly on their team.  Demons against the Host, against pagans.  Sam took out whoever came at him. 

“This is pointless,” ground out Lucifer against Castiel, “Taking some extra side?  You’ll be destroyed.”

“You’re so focused on that, Lucifer.  On destroying, breaking—burning.  I know you ordered them to find Dean in the alleyway, to force his hand.  I was the one who pulled him out.  I know you ordered Azazel to attack the Winchester home.  You’ve made your decision.  This Project Apocalypse—to cleanse the world—it’s _your_ doing.  Michael wouldn’t admit it, but it’s all your doing.  And he’s going along for the ride because he’s sick of what you did to the Host, because he’s hoping it will bring Father back.  I know this, because that’s what I thought, too.

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and Castiel cried out.  The Devil’s skin was scorched. 

“Excessive use of Grace, brother?” Castiel gasped out.  Lucifer growled and punched the hero in the face. 

“Azazel, what’s taking so long?!” he growled. 

“He won’t give in!” Yellow Eyes replied, sending balls of flame at Sam to try to distract him enough to control him. 

“He’s on the demon blood; it shouldn’t be so hard!” Lucifer replied. 

“For fuck’s sake, pay attention,” Sam growled, “I’m not saying yes.  Not today, not ever.”  Dean fired another gunshot right at Azazel, who howled. 

Sam sighed and hauled everybody in his vicinity away from one another, tossing enemies and gently setting down allies.  Hunter whistled. 

“Dude.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a badass on occasion,” Sam laughed, crossing his arms. 

“Enough!” Michael shouted, “If your vessel won’t say yes, perhaps mine will,” he said, snapping his fingers.  Hunter was suddenly standing before Michael, one eyebrow raised. 

“Really?  You think I’m taking _your_ side?”

“I summoned my vessel.  Where is he?” Michael hissed, glancing around. 

“I don’t teleport, dude.  Not in my lineup.  You did summon your vessel.  Just not while he was at his day job,” Hunter shrugged, smirking, “And now I have a way to kick _both_ of your asses.”  He pulled the First Blade from his belt, pointing it at the ground between the two opposing brothers. 

“You think a little toy like that’ll do anything?” Lucifer asked.  Famine, War, and Pestilence were ravaging Team Free Will’s allies. 

“Funny how this toy holds the power of  Death.”  That made the Devil pause. 

“Death can’t have—“ The ring glinted from the hilt of the otherwise dull-colored blade.  There was shouting—apparently, the last of the demons had been taken care of, besides Crowley and Yellow Eyes. 

The dogs stopped nipping at Castiel at every turn. 

“Where are your hounds?” Lucifer growled. 

“Not here.  I know a losing battle when I see it,” he eyed his leader, “And I know better.  I’ve got some alliances in Crossroads.  I’d rather not be a part of your Hell anymore.  Too much gloom and doom plotting.  Later, Squirrel. Moose,” he waved, and in a trail of red smoke, he was gone. 

“Self-serving traitor,” spat Lucifer.  Michael laughed. 

“You’re one to talk.” 

“Because I saw promise in giving people powers, making gods among men?”

“Because you abused your Grace to make demon blood.  To make a _drug_ that _hurts_ people, Lucifer.”

“Oh, get off your high horse.  You don’t give a damn about people, Michael.  You just want Dad back,” he taunted, “The same Dad that had you throw me out of the club.”

_Bang!_

“You two are worse than me and my brother,” Hunter commented, gun smoking from hitting Lucifer point-blank.  Healer stared on, not helping, not fighting. 

* * *

“Man, am I glad not to be out there,” said Metatron, glancing out the window of the bar.  The only other in the room was an older man sipping coffee.  

“Me, too.  Those boys just can’t seem to get it in their heads—now, team Free Will, they have the right idea,” Chuck raised his mug. 

“They’re all assholes,” Metatron muttered. 

‘You’re pretty bad yourself,” Chuck reminded the reporter. 

“True, and I own up to that.  But what about you?” 

Chuck smiled and sipped from his World’s Greatest Dad mug. 

* * *

The cavalry backed off as the enemy number dwindled.  Sam faced off directly against Ezekiel, Dean was fighting Yellow Eyes, Cas was against Lucifer, and Gabriel was trying to hold Michael off. 

Ezekiel glared. 

“Sam Winchester, you are an abomination.”

“I’ve heard,” Sam replied dryly.  “I actually don’t care.  You were friends with Lucifer for a time.  You clearly know what he’s like.  Help us beat him.”

“That’s the idea, if Michael would summon his vessel.”

“He just did, in case you weren’t watching.  It’s Hunter.  And I’m Legacy.”  Sam chose that moment to pin the guy to the ground—it appeared his powers were simply heightened strength, speed, and endurance, so Sam didn’t have too much trouble getting him. 

With a pair of handcuffs made out of the street’s debris, Sam tied down the man. 

“I suggest you stay there.”

Dean’s shot whizzed right in front of Sam’s nose to hit Azazel square in the chest.  Super or not, Sam was frozen after that very-near-death experience. 

“That could’ve killed me, jerk!”

“But it didn’t, bitch!”

And with a sudden roar, Lucifer set the park aflame. 

* * *

Finally, Metatron turned on his heel. 

“That’s enough.  You can’t let them do this anymore.”

“I’m containing the fire on the surface.  No one and nothing will be damaged,” Chuck shrugged. 

“Your family is out there.  Fighting over something you didn’t even ask for.  And Team Free Will is attempting to stop them.  Do you _want_ your sons locked in the Cage?”

“No. But that’s not my decision to make.  I’m not God,” he grinned into his cup of coffee.  Metatron glared disapprovingly, both at the comment and at the mug.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise visitor appears at the end of the fight, and everything comes to a close.

 

“You _will_ say yes!” he roared. 

“No.  My answer is no!” Sam replied. 

It was then that he began chanting from memory, and Dean began fighting the Devil in earnest.  Gabriel was summoning water to put out the flames.  Castiel fought Michael, swords clanging. 

Dean jammed the First Blade into the ground as soon as Sam finished, rolling out of the way as the Devil pounced. 

The light that was Lucifer’s grace was being sucked into the Cage. 

“ _NO!_ ” growled Michael, leaping at Dean, but Sam slammed the General down with his powers—right on top of Lucifer. 

“What have you _done_?!” he seethed.  Sam panted, shocked. 

“We—we finished it.  It’s over.”

“Damn right,” Hunter grinned from where he was standing, stretching wide.  “Now how exactly are we going to explain the damage?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” a man said, coming out of a restaurant.  Castiel turned, unimpressed, as Metatron emerged with a camera. 

“Um, I’d really rather not be outed, thanks,” Sam said, scratching the back of his head. 

“Know anyone really good with video editing software, then?”

“Actually, I do,” Sam said after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Get it back to me ASAP and your identity’s safe.  I’m not gonna share with the world; don’t worry.”

“Why should we trust you?” asked Enoch, frowning deeply. 

“Because I work for your father.”

“Bull,” Castiel spat, “You’re an editor and reporter at Garrison True Voice.  You don’t know Light.”

“I do.  He hired me, Naomi, and his son, Castiel, at the paper.  He’s an author and comic book writer that sponsors our business.  Naomi and I are old friends of his.”

“Liar,” growled Lucifer from the Cage, “You don’t know our Father.  You _can’t_ know him.”

“What, because you’re a big bad archangel?  Or because I’m a mere human?” Metatron snorted.  “Humans are better than even Light.  Sure, they’re pretty capable of atrocities—but they sing, they dance, they love—they never give up.  That’s something Light can’t say, because he gave up and started his little writing business when he decided the world didn’t need him anymore.  You can pout at me all you want.  Doesn’t change the facts.”

“You weren’t always human,” accused Michael. “I know you.  Scribe.”  Metatron laughed. 

“I was always human.  I never had Grace or wings.  I was never an angel like the rest of the Host.  I pretended, for appearance’s sake.  But I was just there.  You thought I actually _had_ powers? Cute.  I worked off of excess Grace from Light.  But I was never Super myself, never more than what I am.” 

“That’s enough squabbling now, children,” said a small voice from behind the reporter.  Unassuming.  A scraggly kind of man, not very imposing.  They all stared, but it was Castiel who spoke. 

“Father?!”

* * *

Weeks later, things were more or less normal. 

Castiel continued his editing job, getting a promotion after one of the stories he did major work on sold well.  He and Dean continued dating, and it was going very well for the happy couple. 

Sam was a little behind what he would have liked at school, but Charlie, Garth, and Kevin assured him that honestly, his grades were so high, he’d have to get a negative score on his finals to fail. 

Kevin even did calculations to prove it. 

Hell was still a problem.  Different crime bosses were arguing over who ought to take over after Lucifer’s imprisonment.  The Host was disheveled too, completely at loss for a purpose.  Some joined Team Free Will.  Others went rogue, thinking they had to find some sort of leader to follow, or some sort of battle to win. 

Raphael became an anarchist, completely disregarding previously important rules of Heaven.  The Horsemen, sans Death, were apprehended.  Dean returned the Blade and ring, but Death just smiled and shook his head.

“You’re much like my old friend Cain here.  Keep it.  Just remember—if you have the intent to kill with that blade, whatever it pierces will die.”  Dean repressed a shudder and nodded. 

Gabriel’s business at the bakery was booming, so much so that he closed it for a party with everyone that had helped them.  He closed again the next day on account of everyone having raging hangovers and the mysterious appearance of a bunch of Shetland ponies wandering about the shop.  Most of the guests weren’t sure where the animals came from. 

After the story Metatron recorded came out, Team Free Will had a ton of fans.  Sam kept receiving proposals from some woman named Becky Rosen over letters mailed through Charlie.  Dean basked in the glory, as did Gabe, and Castiel, well, just kept being slightly stoic and a little uncomfortable with some advances. 

“Dude, are we the Justice League now?” Dean asked, grinning manically. 

“Well, we’re not the Men of Letters,” Sam shrugged as he cleaned out another room in the Bunker for a new member of their team. 

“We’re actually pretty Avengers, I would say,” Gabriel shrugged, “And no Loki jokes, Dean-o.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, man.  Think we’d ever get written into comics?”

“Actually,” Castiel said, pulling a file from his trench coat, “Carver Edlund wants to write comics based loosely off of Team Free Will.  Set in a somewhat alternate universe, but no less intriguing.  And he wants your inputs on the fictional secret identities—I believe he suggested Dean Smith, Sam Wesson, Jimmy Novak, and Gabe Milton, according to the rough sketches he sent me.” 

“Sam, Dean, Gabe and . . . Jimmy?” Sam asked. 

“My middle name is James,” Castiel shrugged, “But we are allowed to come up with the backstories if we approve of its being published.”

“Sounds like fun!” Gabriel rubbed his hands together in anticipation. 

* * *

 

_S_ _U_ _PERNATURAL_

_VOL. 1_

_SAVING PEOPLE, HUNTING THINGS_

_A strange virus is stretching across the US. Will Team Free Will be able to stop Croatoan in its tracks, or be doomed to what very well could be Hell on Earth?_

* * *

Luckily, no Croatoan actually appeared.  Dick Roman turned out to really be, well, a dick.  A kind of Lex Luthor, or, if they were talking Marvel, very Green Goblin.  Depending on who you talked to. 

So the team was ready for what came.  The four main members delegated smaller heists or towns or patrols to other members. 

They themselves had come out of Project Apocalypse changed. 

Dean, the plain old mechanic, learned how to not only save the world, but himself, his loved ones. 

Sam found that his abilities were meant for more than destruction, that it was _his_ choice to be a hero. 

Castiel was no longer a lost sheep, no longer following some order on high—he was doing what was right because it was right.

Gabriel realized in the end that if he stood for nothing, he’d fall for nothing, so he took a side: the side of humanity, of people. 

And nothing, not monsters or demons or whatever Roman’s scheme turned out to be in the next chapter of their lives, would stand for long, because Team Free Will protects the ones they love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I imagine the Supernatural comics that Chuck is making have a similar art style to Supernatural the Animation. (of course, with a bit more accuracy to the show as far as some characters). 
> 
> So this is the end of this particular story, but I might do timestamps and various other ficlets in this AU. I really like how it turned out and hope you all do as well. I was thinking:
> 
> How the boys got their powers/their first discoveries  
> How Charlie found out Dean was the Hunter  
> More reveals to friends and family  
> Various couple-y things amongst Destiel and Sabriel and whoever I pair in the background  
> Maybe Chuck's first comic?
> 
> I'm totally up for requests in this AU; just comment whatever you like!  
> As for now--signing off!


End file.
